


light of my life

by FantasySwap



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, NO rape but dub-con elements, Power Imbalance, Stalking, Teenage Bucky, alternative universe, ex-military steve, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-06-15 20:51:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15421350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasySwap/pseuds/FantasySwap
Summary: It only takes a minute for Steve to fall in love with Bucky Barnes— he knows from the second he lays eyes on Bucky that they’re perfect for each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just to say, this is not exactly a healthy relationship. Steve literally stalks Bucky and (unknowingly/unintentionally) emotionally manipulates him. That being said he doesn’t ever mean to hurt Bucky but he can’t see why his actions are wrong.
> 
> If that isn’t your cup of tea I recommend not reading but if you do decide to read I hope you enjoy it! <3

It only takes a minute for Steve to fall in love with Bucky Barnes— he knows from the second he lays eyes on Bucky that they’re perfect for each other.

 

Steve has been back in New York for about three weeks by now, living in a decent apartment paid for by a bunch of fancy government officials wanting to show their ‘gratitude’ for Steve’s bravery in battle. He knows it’s just their way of buying his silence, buying his services, but the apartment is modern and fully furnished and, most importantly, free, so he can’t really complain. He has two bedrooms, an open spaced kitchen and living room and a bathroom; his shower has hot water whenever he turns the tap on and it’s so much more than he’s had in such a long time that he daren't risk it being taken away from him.

 

His therapist, a petite woman named Christie who looks like she’d snap in half if anyone so much as breathed on her, keeps telling him that he needs to get out more. He needs to make friends, get used to civilian life, start reconnecting, etcetera etcetera. Steve thinks it’s all bullshit - why would he want to leave his comfy, cushy apartment to meet new people? - but the sessions are mandatory and if he doesn’t attend them all Christie will probably send him for a psyc evaluation and that’s the last thing Steve wants.

 

So Steve takes her advice, as much as it pains him to admit it. He doesn’t have a job - doesn’t need one with the insurance payout he’s receiving - and there’s only so much you can do with Netflix and a flatscreen TV. He gets bored, and when he gets bored his mind starts drifting. He remembers long nights spent in tight spaces, hushed conversations with his troop, sand in his eyes and mouth… maybe a social life could do him good after all.

 

There’s a coffee shop a few blocks away from his apartment, and Steve does his research before he leaves the apartment. It’s not Starbucks or anything fancy like that but it has good reviews and it’s coffee is supposed to be orgasmic so Steve figures it couldn’t hurt to give it a go; it’s mostly used by students by the looks of it and so Steve chooses to go at around ten in the morning, lest he bump into some zombie-like high school kid in desperate need of caffeine. Ten is early enough to be considered the morning but late enough to save him from the morning rush hour. Most people will be at school or at work by ten, so Steve can just saunter in, buy a coffee, saunter out and let Christie know that he passed her little test with flying colours.

 

(What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.)

 

The walk does Steve good as well; it’s been a while since he’s been able to just stroll along the street, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying life, without the threat of a bomb raid hanging over his head like an executioner’s axe. He hasn’t really left the living room in the three weeks that he’s been back - having groceries delivered to his door is one of the best decisions Steve has ever made, he decides - so this is the first time he’s been able to experience New York City life at its finest.

 

He was right to choose to go later, Steve thinks to himself as he nears the doors. Even at ten in the morning the coffee shop is busy with stragglers: any earlier and the crowd might have sent Steve into a full blown panic attack. He wonders what Christie would think of that. He’s psyc eval material for sure.

 

The woman behind the counter looks unassuming enough, with long wavy hair to colour of corn and bright blue eyes that shine from behind thick frames. She sort of reminds Steve of his mother, has the same kind of aura surrounding her, and Steve wonders if she has any children of her own at home. He’s always considered himself a good judge of character, always enjoyed people watching, but ever since he’s been back he seems to be watching people far more regularly than he is interacting with them.

 

According to his therapist, Steve’s inability to maintain normal relationships stems from his fear of losing people he has grown to care about. Personally, Steve doesn’t think that’s a groundbreaking discovery but apparently sarcasm doesn’t work on ex veteran therapists and all he had accomplished was receiving a lecture. Apparently by watching people from a distance rather than actually getting to know them, Steve is able to create ‘fantasies’ - here, he had flushed horribly - about having a relationship with that person. He can never be disappointed with them if he is controlling them, right?

 

“What can I do for you?” The woman behind the till asks kindly. She has a pretty smile, and is so soft spoken Steve has to lean forward to hear her properly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a voice is telling Steve that this is the first person he has spoken to other than Christie, a handful of government and army officials, and Colin: his grocery delivery man. His heart speeds up, and some panicked feeling settles low in his gut. This feels like an accomplishment even though it really, really shouldn’t be.

 

“Um,” Steve replies, because he is a highly trained soldier and also a bumbling, antisocial hermit. “I— can I have…”

 

The woman smiles encouragingly at him and he wonders if she gets customers like this often, who come in here with no idea what they want and no idea how to talk to people. His eyes flick down to the name tag attached to her t-shirt - Hannah, sweet name - before he swallows and looks away in case she thinks he’s trying to look at her chest. She’s a sweet girl, and Steve knows how he looks: she doesn’t deserve to have some creep with the stature of a bodybuilder checking her out.

 

“Just coffee, please. Black.” He finally chokes out, tripping over his words. He wonders when simple conversations became so difficult for him.

 

Hannah nods and points to where he has to wait while she prepares his coffee, so Steve shuffles over there quickly and surveys his surroundings. There aren’t that many people in the cafe at the moment, for which Steve is undeniably grateful for - and the few people that are there are working on their own things. No one is paying the slightest bit of attention to him: not even Hannah, who goes about preparing his black coffee. Steve breathes out a sigh of relief and pulls his money out, including a tip for Hannah. He has more money than he knows what to do with now, and tipping the friendly barista isn’t going to effect him at all.

 

Hannah smiles as she hands him his drink in a take away cup - like she knew, without asking, that Steve wouldn’t be sticking around - and he tries not to think about the way their fingers brush. He’s pushing the money towards her and stumbling backwards just seconds later, eyes glued to the floor as he heads in the direction of the exit. If he can just leave, if he can just get back to the safety of his apartment he can ditch the coffee and swap it for a glass of water. He can curl up on the sofa and watch nature documentaries until his next appointment with Christie. Then he can tell her that he _tried_ her fucking experiment and maybe he’s too fucked up for it to work—

 

Steve collides with another body before he can look up, and his coffee is suddenly no longer in his cup. Instead it’s all over his front, staining his hoodie and scalding his skin. He gasps and hears whoever he bumped into gasp to, a short, surprised little intake of breath.

 

“Shit,” Steve hears someone say from close by, their breath ghosting over his cheek. “I’m so sorry! _Fuck_ , let me buy you a new one.”

 

Steve looks up, opens his mouth to politely decline their offer because all he really wants to do is get the fuck out of here and into the relative safety of his bed. And then he lays eyes on Bucky for the first time and it feels a little bit like all his priorities are shifting, falling, altering to fit around the beautiful boy in front of him. For the first time Steve doesn’t care that a stranger is standing so close to him, doesn’t care that he’s talking to someone rather than watching them, doesn’t even care that there’s burning hot coffee dripping down his front. All he knows is that he has to keep talking, keep watching, keep breathing the same air as this kid.

 

“Are you okay?” This kid is talking again, his eyes wide and concerned, and Steve can’t seem to tear his eyes away from his lips. They’re big and red and they look so, so smooth. Steve wonders if this kid has ever kissed anybody, properly, because those lips are obviously meant to be kissed. He wonders if the kid has ever had anyone sink their teeth into those lips and tug, before licking over the same spot comfortingly.

 

And, shit. He was supposed to reply now, before things got too weird and this stranger left thinking Steve was a complete psychopath.

 

“Yeah, sorry. Should have been looking where I was going.” Steve replies amiably, surprised to find that talking to the kid isn’t difficult at all. On the contrary, Steve feels refreshed and even enthusiastic to keep talking to him, even with his drink drying on his skin and sticking his shirt to his body. It’s uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to distract him from the kid’s beautiful face.

 

“No, totally my fault. I’ll buy you another drink.” The kid grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He rushes past Steve, letting the door fall shut behind him; Steve has a choice to either follow the kid back inside and let him buy him another drink, or just leave. If he leaves now he can get back to his sofa quickly, but he may never get another opportunity to see this kid again.

 

He follows him inside. Whilst he’s walking, he gives himself the chance to look at the kid properly, something he hasn’t done already. He’d been too busy ignoring the universe to see him before they hit each other, and after that he had been too distracted by the kid’s lips to notice anything else about him. Now he actually looks, though, he’s able to deduce a little more about the boy.

 

He’s pale skinned with dark bags under his eyes, and his hair is messy and sticking out in all directions. He’s wearing a plain black hoodie and baggy grey tracksuits, and on his feet are a pair of beat up sneakers with the laces missing. There’s a tatty rucksack slung over his shoulder and he’s fidgeting, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, as he waits for Steve to make it to the counter. Thanks to Steve’s unquestionable skills of observation, he is able to deduce that this boy is overtired, under caffeinated and, judging by the way he keeps looking at the time on his phone with an anxious expression, late for school.

 

“Bucky!” Hannah cries happily when she sees the kid at the counter, and it’s such a strange thing to say that Steve is sure ‘Bucky’ must be this kid’s name. “Shouldn’t you be at school by now? Or did you just show up here instead to terrorise my customers?”

 

Bucky grins, the corners of his beautiful lips lifting up slightly, and he rubs the back of his neck. Paired with the overall attractiveness of the kid, it just makes such an adorable picture that the only thing stopping Steve from honest to God cooing is Hannah. Steve watches in fascination as Bucky’s cheeks turn an interesting shade of pink.

 

“I _may_ have slept through my alarm,” Bucky admits. Steve feels a little awkward just standing there behind Bucky, certain that the kid has forgotten about him, but then he turns to smile apologetically at Steve. “And then I _may_ have accidentally spilt this poor gentleman’s coffee all over his shirt.”

 

Steve can’t remember the last time anybody called him a gentleman. It was probably his mom, back when he was in tenth grade.

 

“Bucky!” Hannah chastises, rolling her eyes but smiling at the same time. “Come on then. You better hurry up and order so you’re not any later than you already are. Mr Stark will freak out on you and you know it.”

 

Bucky shrugs before replying.

 

“I’ll have my usual. Hey,” he leans back against the counter to face Steve, smiling easily. “What would you like? It’s on me.”

 

For all his confident behaviour, Steve notices Bucky’s foot tapping impatiently against the floor. He’s still nervous about being late to school and instead of taking a second to process how precious that it, Steve replies with as much confidence as he can muster in front of two complete strangers. Rather than tell Bucky that he doesn’t have to buy him anything like he was planning on doing, Steve figures he’ll save the kid some time and just make a request.

 

“Black coffee, please.”

 

Bucky spins on the ball of his foot and nods at Hannah decidedly, who reaches out and pushes Bucky’s face away using her fingertips. He laughs and moves over to the opposite end of the counter and pulls a handful of coins out of his pocket; Steve watches him go, his long limbs moving gracefully. Steve wants to wrap his fingers around Bucky’s wrist to see how delicate the bones are, wants the push his hoodie up over his head to expose more of that pale skin, wants to suck bruises into is neck.

 

Steve can’t remember the last time he reacted so strongly to another person. He hasn’t slept with anyone in a little over a year and Bucky is quite possibly the most attractive person Steve has ever seen, but that doesn’t explain why he feels as though he’s known Bucky all his life. It scares him a little: this passion, this sensation sizzling under his skin that makes his blood burn and his breath catch in his throat, but he craves it. It reminds him a little of how it felt to be flat on the ground, bullets raining down on him as the wind swept sand into his eyes and mouth; it’s the same terrified anticipation that something life changing is about to happen.

 

It’s the most alive Steve has felt since he got here.

 

“I really am sorry…” Steve’s eyes snap back to Bucky’s and he blushes, worried he’s been caught out staring. When he realises the kid is waiting for Steve to tell him his name, he coughs a little in case his voice breaks half way through his sentence. His mouth suddenly feels far too dry, and he thinks maybe ordering a cool bottle of water instead of a bitter black coffee may have been a good idea.

 

“Steve,” Steve supplies. He sees the way Bucky processes this, minute expressions on his face as he tests the name out, rolls it off his tongue. Steve decides he absolutely loves how his name sounds when coming from Bucky’s mouth.

 

“Steve. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been rushing but I just… I slept through my alarm and there’s no way I can make it all the way through school without caffeine and I just— I should have been looking where I was going. I’ll buy you another t-shirt if you want.”

 

Bucky speaks so quickly that it’s actually incredible to watch; from the way he’s speaking and gesticulating, waving his arms wildly whilst still managing to look refined, Steve can tell that the kid really is just spilling his thoughts out into the open where anyone can hear them. It’s dangerous, Steve thinks, to be that transparent. Bucky could get hurt if he opens himself up to somebody who doesn’t deserve it.

 

“That won’t be necessary.” Steve smiles at him softly, watching as Bucky lets out a barely noticeable sigh of relief. Bucky can’t be much older than eighteen, and whilst college kids generally have less money than high school kids Steve doesn’t imagine Bucky has cash to throw around on buying clothes for strangers. It was Steve who should have been looking where he was going anyway, but if letting Bucky blame himself is buying Steve a little bit more time with the kid then it’s worth it.

 

“Thanks, Steve.” Bucky’s tongue darts out and wets his lips. Steve’s eyes follow the movement and he knows Bucky knows, is watching him watch Bucky, but before either of them can say anything else Hannah is slapping two drinks down onto the counter and looking between them expectantly. Her gaze settles on the pile of coins Bucky is sliding across the counter towards her and she sighs miserably.

 

“Thank you for making my job so much easier, Bucky.” She says sarcastically, scooping the loose change into her hand and nudging the drinks towards them. “But you’d better run. You’ve already missed half of first period.”

 

Bucky pales, pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the time. He curses under his breath and grabs his drink - at least Steve _assumes_ it’s his drink, he has no way of actually knowing - and chucking it back in one big gulp. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, holds Steve’s cup out towards him and then is gone, zipping through the shop and round the corner in a blur of colour.

 

“I’ll get that,” Steve offers, picking up Bucky’s empty cup and heading for the exit. There’s a trash can next to the door; he can just dump Bucky’s cup and drink his own coffee on the way home. There’s no harm in the way he grips the cardboard cup a little tighter, lets the lingering warmth sleep into the palm of his hand, traces his fingertips around the edge where Bucky’s lips must have been. There’s no harm in any of that as long as he bins the cup before he leaves the coffee shop.

 

He doesn’t. He keeps it and when he gets home, he puts it on the table next to his bed. There’s no harm in it, he thinks, as long as he never sees Bucky again.


	2. Chapter 2

Christie’s office is small and compact, cluttered and with a low ceiling so that Steve gets an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia whenever he walks in. It’s not like he isn’t used to small spaces - of course he is, he had to crawl under enough barbed wire fences in his time serving - but Steve isn’t a small guy. He’s tall and broad shouldered and bulky, and whenever he sits in the chair opposite Christie’s desk he’s afraid he’s going to break the tiny fucking thing.

This time is no different: the wood screams under his weight and Christie glances down at the spindly chair legs in concern. Steve feels like raising an eyebrow, making some snarky remark about remodelling, but he doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of the woman. Mandatory or not, paid for it or not, she’s only trying to help Steve and being a dick towards her isn’t going to get him anywhere.

“How are you?” She asks, starting their fourth session in exactly the same way that she’s started all their sessions. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

Steve shrugs like he does every time, because on every occasion his answer has remained the same: a big, emphatic no. Now though, he bites his lip because he thinks maybe there is something he’d like to talk about, and it has everything to do with the empty take-away coffee cup that’s still sitting on his bedside table.

It’s not like he’s been thinking about Bucky a lot: that would be ridiculous. He’s just one random kid Steve met by accident in a coffee shop. Sure, Steve’s reaction to said kid was… overwhelming at best - concerning at worst - but there may have been one or two times over the past couple of days where Steve has found his mind drifting to the kid. Maybe Bucky is just jerk off material: maybe in a few days Steve will see someone else that’s devastatingly attractive and all thoughts of Bucky will vanish like they were never even there.

It doesn’t feel like it though.

“I took your advice.” Steve volunteers. Christie’s eyebrows shoot up, either at the admission that Steve took her advice on board or at the fact that he didn’t just shoot her down like he does every session.

“You did?” She inquires passively, as though she’s not even remotely interested. It must be some sort of reverse psychology and Steve curses the fact that it works on him. He feels so fucking small, just like when he was a child and his teachers would congratulate him for completing the simplest tasks. People used to baby him just because of his health problems and his smaller body, and sitting in this chair telling his therapist that he managed to buy a coffee without having a mental breakdown sends him right back to his childhood.

“I went to a cafe near my apartment. I talked to a couple of people, met someone.” He doesn’t elaborate beyond that because he isn’t sure if he wants to. He knows Christie will prompt him to talk about the people he met but right now something that feels a lot like jealousy is boiling in the pit of his stomach. Possessiveness maybe: he doesn’t know anything about Bucky and yet he doesn’t want to share him with anyone, least of all Christie. She’ll turn him into some sort of metaphor for Steve’s ‘trauma’.

Steve wants to keep Bucky all to himself.

“You talked to them?” She inquires carefully. Steve knows what she really wants to ask: did you talk to them or stare at them and run away? Christie likes to think she’s being subtle but Steve can read her like a book. Sometimes he wonders who’s really the therapist and who’s the patient here.

“I ordered a coffee.” Steve clarifies, making a split second decision. He doesn’t want to share Bucky with her, but he genuinely does want to hear her opinions on this matter; he doesn’t know whether that’s because he wants her advice or whether he wants to laugh at her advice. Either are plausible options.

“Is that… all?” Christie questions, sounding disappointed. Steve almost laughs at the absurdity of it all: here he is, a grown man, lying to his therapist because he doesn’t want to talk about a pretty boy he saw in a coffee shop. Maybe he can tell himself it’s because he doesn’t want her to think Steve has any serious problems: he’s sure if he told Christie he kept Bucky’s coffee cup and looks at it when he wakes up in the morning she wouldn’t think twice about sticking him on a pill diet and referring him to a lobotomist.

“I ordered a coffee and she made it and then I walked back to my apartment.” Steve shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, like his heart isn’t beating an irregular rhythm in his chest because it took a lot out of him to order that goddamned fucking coffee and here Christie is telling him it isn’t enough. It’s okay for her, Steve supposes, to sit there and look down on him for not being able to maintain normal relationships with people but she wasn’t _there_. She doesn’t know what it feels like to taste blood in your mouth as you wait to die, to know that anyway you look you’re going to see the dead bodies of people who were once your friends… maybe if she knew what that felt like she wouldn’t be so quick to judge Steve.

But no, he thinks. She shouldn’t have to know what that feels like— no one should. That’s sort of the reason Steve was there in the first place: to try and prevent all future fights. To protect civilians. His own mental health is secondary to the lives of innocent people.

“Baby steps,” Christie conceded with an encouraging smile. It takes all of Steve’s effort not to flip her off. “You want to know what I think, Steve?”

No, Steve does not want to know what Christie thinks. All of his therapy appointments so far have been about what Christie thinks, and Steve really can’t stand to hear any more of her stupid opinions. He can’t say any of this of course, but in his head he’s screaming and it makes him feel a little lighter.

She must take his silence as an inclination to continue because she smiles at him, a half smile that promises a better future, and nods acquiescently.

“I think you struggle to form and maintain meaningful relationships with people because of the trauma you went through during your time as a serving officer. I’ll be honest with you Steve: I have no idea what you went through. It must have been horrific for you to go through what you went through, but I think that because of those struggles you have trouble opening yourself up to new possible friendships. You saw your friends, your fellow soldiers, die in front of you and now you’re scared to become emotionally attached to people in case you lose them. You aren’t weak for feeling this way: it’s psychological damage.”

Christie leans back in her chair: leather, soft and enveloping, much more comfortable than the run-of-the-mill plastic chair Steve gets to sit in. She looks as if she’s fighting off a grin, watching Steve carefully like she just broke the fucking enigma code and expects him to worship at her feet for it. This, like Steve has always thought, is not a startling discovery. It’s standard for ex-vets to experience social anxiety and the need for isolation.

The timer on Christie’s desk beeps: time up, Steve is free. He doesn’t acknowledge anything the woman just said, which will no doubt disappoint her greatly. He shakes her hand, steps outside and heads home.

***

The sense of calm and inner peace Steve somehow reached can only last so long, and it seems that his time is up tonight. He wakes from a nightmare, bedsheets soaked through with sweat and his mind trapped in a constant loop of the past. He’s no longer in his bed, in his swanky apartment in New York. He’s laid out on the ground in a desert overcome with rifle fire. Gunshots ring out overhead and if he opens his eyes a gust of wind will blow sand into them. He can’t open his eyes so he can’t fight back, can’t see the bodies all over the floor, doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t want to know where he is, _oh god somebody help just wakeupwakeupwakeup_

He jolts upright, gasping for breath and shaking so hard he’s worried he’ll fall right out of his bed. He’s not crying exactly but his eyes are watering, tiny pinpricks at the back of his skull that make goosebumps rise on his skin. He’s _safe:_ he’s at home in bed in New York, there’s no threat, he’s safe. There’s no use in getting worked up over nothing, really, Steve needs to learn to control himself more.

He knows there’s no way he’ll be able to fall back asleep again after this. Even if he could manage to forget his past while he’s awake, he knows it will all be waiting for him in his subconscious, where he’s unarmed and unprepared for it. The only thing he can do now is try and distract himself: there’s an interesting documentary on Netflix about killer whales, or if he prefers he could try and catch up on all the episodes of Game of Thrones he missed while he was on tour. Neither of those options seem particularly appealing to him at this precise moment in time, just more reminders of death and violence exploited for people’s entertainment.

And then his gaze lands on the empty coffee cup sitting next to his bed, and of course he starts thinking of Bucky.

Honestly, Steve thinks he’s passed being concerned with his own behaviour by now. He doesn’t particularly feel ashamed about this… this _obsession_ he has with a kid he’s barely met once. All that’s left is fascination and a mild sense of intrigue: he wants to know more about Bucky because the kid, despite never having met Steve before, is the first person Steve has been able to talk to without inhibitions ever since he got back from leave just over three weeks ago. He doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know why, but Steve thinks that that makes Bucky something worth holding onto.

Steve slides out of bed, hissing as the cool night air hits his skin. He’s wearing a pair of tracksuit shorts only because he doesn’t have any t-shirts that are baggy enough to be comfortable while he sleeps. Steve never sleeps in just boxers; he always has to be ready to get up, run, defend or attack, should the situation call for it and that’s something he’d much rather do with clothes on.

He closes his window on the way to his desk, grabs his laptop harshly and flings it onto the bed behind him. This is something he’d rather do in relative comfort so he crawls back under the covers and grabs a few more pillows, positioning himself comfortably so that he’s propped up against the headboard with his laptop in his lap. The only thing that would make this better would be if Steve hot a hot chocolate next to him - the kind his mother used to make, with the cream and marshmallows all included - but marshmallows haven’t been high on the list of things Steve needs to buy recently.

The screen flickers to life, casting a harsh white glow around Steve’s room when he lifts the cover up. He opens safari and pulls Google up but before he can type anything he stops, stuck. His fingers hover over the keyboard indecisively as he chews his bottom lip raw; he has an overwhelming feeling that he’s about to cross some invisible barrier that he won’t be able to return from. Thinking about the kid is one thing, but actively going out of his way to find out more information about him? That’s bordering on creepy.

And yet Steve finds himself unable to close the page, to shut his laptop and go back to sleep. There’s an itch under his skin that he can’t satiate; he needs something more and he thinks he knows how to get it too.

He searches for google maps and types in the address of the coffee shop. Hannah had told Bucky to run to school, which he would only have been able to do if his school was nearby. Steve figures there can’t be that many schools in walking distance to that particular coffee shop, so when he finds out that the second closest high school is over an hour away he decides that this one - Harris High School, a little over fifteen minutes walking distance from Steve’s apartment - must be where Bucky goes to school.

Opening up a new tab along the top of the screen, Steve types in the name of the high school and pulls up the website. You need a password to get further than the home screen but Steve wasn’t raised on the wrong side of the tracks only to pick up _no_ life skills, and it takes him less than ten minutes to bring down the security firewall and hack into the account of the deputy head. His picture shows an overweight, balding, middle aged man with a horrendous smile: Steve likes to think he wouldn’t mind.

From there, it’s easy to access the list of students who attend Harris High School, and all Steve has to do is enter Bucky into the search bar at the top of the page.

No results.

Steve shouldn’t be surprised really - now he thinks about it Bucky is too ridiculous to be anything other than a nickname - but it still presents him with a problem. How is he supposed to find anything out about the kid if he doesn’t even know his real name?

An idea strikes, supported by years of attending his own shitty high school. Bucky must surely be a senior - Steve feels queasy at the thought of him being any younger - and it’s still a requirement to have a yearbook photo assigned to your school profile. If Steve can just…

Result. After filtering: _senior_ and _male_ , Steve only has to scroll through five hundred and sixty three pupils if he wants to recognise and therefore find Bucky. He has to remind himself again why he’s doing this, the lazy ass that threatens to take over groans at the prospect of looking at over five hundred high school student profiles, but then he looks at Bucky’s abandoned coffee cup and he remembers.

He remembers the way Bucky’s fringe fell over his forehead and the way the left side of his mouth up quirks up higher than the right when he’s grinning. He remembers the way Bucky treated him like he was just another regular human being and not some ticking time bomb. He starts scrolling.

He starts to think maybe, instead of hot chocolate Steve could use a stiff drink or a cup of bitter coffee. His eyes start to droop, sleep whispering to him temptingly, but the memory of fire burning hot against his skin pushes him onwards.

Thankfully he finds Bucky fairly quickly, his surname being almost at the top of the alphabet. Steve’s stomach does a swooping, soaring movement that unsettles him but he clicks on Bucky’s profile, opening it and scanning through. He doesn’t want to skim read the kid’s details, doesn’t want to miss anything that could be important. The yearbook picture they have for him is surprisingly attractive considering all the truly awful ones Steve scrolled through to get here— not to mention Steve’s own truly awful high school yearbook photos. Then again, he doesn’t think Bucky could look unattractive in any situation.

James Buchanan Barnes: seventeen years old and, thank God, a senior. He lives with his parents (not biological) and his younger sister (biological). He’s currently studying AP English, calculus and biology, and his emergency contacts are his parents. Steve can also find his home address and landline phone number, both things which Steve will never have a use for.

Obviously. _Obviously_.

By the time Steve has finished copying all the information he can find on Bucky’s school record onto a Word document, saved it to his hard drive and hand written a paper copy - so sue him, he likes to be thorough- it’s almost dawn. Morning light flitters through his curtains and the sound of birds chirping grabs his attention. Pretty soon, the High School students will be waking up, showering, probably going out for their much needed daily dose of caffeine…

Steve thinks he could do with a coffee.

***  
He arrives just before most people will be leaving their houses, and takes the window seat near the door. It feels wrong: he’s so exposed here, on view for anyone who chooses to look through either the glass in the door or the windows. It was a strategic decision though, Steve tells himself, because now not only is he near to the exit in case he needs to make a quick getaway but he’s also at a good vantage point. He can see everyone who walks past, everyone who comes inside. He’ll be able to see Bucky— if the kid is here, Steve will know about it.

Steve will readily admit to himself - although nobody else - that he does feel slightly uncomfortable with what he’s doing. Bucky is seventeen, a school child, and Steve is a grown man. He’s twenty-five years old, an ex war veteran who hacked into Bucky’s school website just to find out more about him. Now he knows where the kid lives, his home address, what classes he’s taking, and _now_. _Now_ he’s sitting in a coffee shop, sipping an espresso and waiting to see Bucky again. This is wrong, so wrong, but there’s something inside of Steve that doesn’t want to stop.

He feels his eyelids drooping and takes another sip of his drink: bitter caffeine floods his system and makes his nose wrinkle. It’s been a while since he’s stayed up all night like that, and honestly he feels more exhausted after an nightmare than he would if he didn’t go to sleep. His body is protesting, wanting to shut down right here on the table, but Steve can’t risk missing Bucky if the kid comes around.

He tips his head back, finishing his drink and squeezing his eyes shut. He hasn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday and his stomach is empty save for the coffee. Hannah isn’t working today and so he had stumbled through his order embarrassingly, had scrambled for a table as soon as it was ready. And now, having been sitting there for half an hour already, he doesn’t have chance to change his mind and go home before a mass of teenagers are rounding the corner and heading straight for the door.

Steve perks up and then instantly slouches down in his seat again, aware of how unusual it would look for a grown man to be excited at the arrival of a bunch of teenagers. He can’t help himself, though; Bucky might be there, right in front of his eyes, and Steve doesn’t want to miss anything about the kid.

They enter like a hoard of bees, buzzing with small talk, laughing and gossiping and jumping up and down with a youthful energy that makes Steve simultaneously envious and nostalgic. What it must be like to be so excited about life. After the army, after Afghanistan, Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get that enthusiasm back.

They form a queue, haphazard and messy in the way that only teenagers can pull off without seeming obnoxious. There are at least ten of them there, all crowding around one another and talking loud enough to disturb the other patrons at the cafe, but Bucky isn’t one of them. Steve swallows down his disappointment, waits another twenty minutes in case he’s late again and then has to give up, telling himself Bucky isn’t coming today.

Back at Steve’s apartment Steve fires up his laptop again, opening Facebook and logging into the account he has under a different name so as to remain anonymous. He clicks the search bar, typing in the name Bucky Barnes and scrolling through a few accounts without finding anything that even remotely resembles Bucky. No luck.

Thinking that maybe the kid has an account under his first name, he types James Barnes in instead and waits, only just ignoring the urge to bite his fingers nervously, as the profiles load. There are a few more this time and his heart rate spikes hopefully, but the longer Steve looks through each profile the less hopeful he becomes. Bucky Barnes isn’t on Facebook, and neither is James Barnes, or any other variation of the name that Steve can think of. Patiently, because all he has now is too much time and more money than he knows what to do with, he spend the next half an hour looking through Instagram and Twitter and, God help him, even Snapchat.

Bucky Barnes is a social ghost. This is good, in a way, because it all adds to the mystery and intrigue that cling to the kid. Now more than ever Steve wants to know everything about him, from things as silly and inconsequential as his favourite colour to important things like his favourite childhood memory.

However, it’s also incredibly bad for Steve because it means Steve has no way of getting in contact with Bucky, he can’t send him a surreptitious friend request or follow him without drawing too much attention to himself. He doesn’t have Bucky’s phone number - the school ‘gave’ Steve his home phone number, but if he calls that number he runs the risk of Bucky’s parents or his sister picking the phone up - so there’s really no way he can get in contact with the kid again. No, they didn’t exactly share a meaningful bond when they walked into each other and Bucky bought him another coffee, but thinking about Bucky excited Steve in a way that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

It’s like… thinking about Bucky is filling a hole somewhere; a hole that would otherwise be filled with nightmares and memories and the faces of his dead friends. It feels like maybe Bucky could be his fresh start, and now there’s no way for Steve to see him again.

Unless… no. Steve couldn’t do that, could he? That would be crossing so many lines that Steve is sure it’s illegal. He has to respect Bucky’s boundaries, Bucky’s privacy, and he has already broken that enough by hacking into the kid’s school file and reading all his private information. There’s no way Steve can possible entertain the notion of going to Bucky’s _house_. Except…

Except Steve can’t help thinking about the way he looked when he leaned back against the counter: cheeks flushed red, hair flopping over his forehead, laces trailing on the floor behind him. He thinks about the way he blushed when he bit his lips, and the way his hips were pushed forward when he rested his elbows on the counter behind him, and he _wants_.

He wants to see Bucky again, wants to talk to him again, and if going to his house will take the edge off that burning need deep inside of him then surely the pros outweigh the cons?

Steve slams his laptop shut with and swallows, sweat beading on his forehead. He can’t be doing this - is he serious about doing this? - but the idea is beginning to sound more and more appealing. He can’t, surely, because how would he even go about doing that? Would he wait outside Bucky’s house until the end of the school day, or would he walk past casually later in the evening and try to peer in one of the windows whilst it’s dark outside and all the lights are on? Now he’s thinking about it - seriously considering it, _Jesus_ \- it is far more complicated than he initially thought.

Hypothetically speaking, _if_ Steve were to put this thought into action it would probably be easiest to get up early in the morning and take a run, maybe try a different route that takes him past Bucky’s house. That way, if the kid decides to stop in a cafe or a diner and get something to eat or drink, Steve could just slip in after him, act like it’s a complete coincidence, before striking up a conversation with him. It would be so easy - assuming he can actually talk to the kid without freezing up - and no one would ever have to find out that Steve used some less than ethical methods!

Even though it is, of course, _a completely hypothetical thought_ Steve can’t help the way his heart beats a little faster at the thought, can’t help the way his dick begins to fill out at the memory of Bucky’s flushed cheeks and his slightly parted lips. Bucky is seventeen; it’s not like he’s a child. Steve isn’t doing anything wrong, he reasons with himself, as he snakes a hand down his stomach and wraps it around his cock. When he comes it’s with Bucky’s face burned into his memory and the boy’s name on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a STALKER I repeat Steve is a STALKER.

Steve gets changed into track shorts and a tight fitting t-shirt with a hoodie. It’s November outside, and despite the sun peeking out from behind the clouds it’s still chilly outside. Stuffing his feet unceremoniously into his battered pair of trainers, Steve remembers to grab a few coins off the kitchen counter in case he needs to buy a coffee; grabs a few more in case he needs to buy Bucky a coffee.

 

He double checks and then triple checks Bucky’s address, finding the kid’s house on google maps so he’ll know for certain when he gets there, and then takes off without waiting until he talks himself out of it. If he changes his mind he can always just take a different route, after all.

 

He’s timed it well— he passes a bunch of other nerdy teenagers with rucksacks bouncing against their backs as they walk, a couple of stoners on skateboards with a beanie on their head and joints hanging out of their mouths. From what he saw the day they met, Steve would say Bucky is more likely to fall into the first category but obviously he can’t be sure about that until he knows the kid better. Steve imagines sharing a blunt with Bucky, watching the kid get more and more relaxed, watching the tension flow out of his body, watching him grin dopily at Steve as his pupils expand. Steve thinks about rolling him onto his back while he’s sleepy and malleable, of unzipping Bucky’s trousers and sucking the kid’s cock to the back of his throat…

 

Steve starts to sprint, pushing himself harder to erase the images from his mind. The last thing he needs is to pop a boner whilst he’s out on a neighbourhood run.

 

When he gets to Bucky’s house he slows, feigning a stitch in case anyone happens to be watching him, and looks around. There is an alleyway just opposite the house, an alcove on one side that looks… promising. Steve stumbles over there, heart beating in his throat: it’s perfect. It goes far back enough that he could stand in it and have a perfect view of the entire front of the house whilst still being completely hidden from view, shrouded in shadows and shielded by the wall if anyone were to look over. It’s unlikely that anyone would even glance down this alleyway though: it’s dark and scummy and it reeks of piss. Steve wrinkles his nose.

 

It isn’t difficult to locate Bucky’s room. The kid is pacing back and forth in front of the window, one hand alternating between fisting his hair and gesturing dramatically in front of him with his other hand he holds a phone up to his ear: Steve isn’t anywhere near close enough to hear what he’s saying but the kid looks angry. A couple of seconds later Bucky shakes his head and slides his phone into his pocket, either having hung up or being hung up on.

 

Steve holds his breath when Bucky leaves the room, disappearing from view. He has no way of knowing if Bucky is going to school today, if he’s going to leave the house; for all he knows, Steve could be standing here for hours for no good reason.

 

But if Bucky does come out - if Steve gets to talk to him and buy him coffee and see that beautiful face up close - he knows it will be worth it.

 

His luck holds out. In less than five minutes the front door is swinging open and Steve gasps, taking two strides backwards so that the shadows engulf him. It’s highly unlikely that he would be seen here - even if someone were looking for him they would struggle to pick him out from the surroundings - but his heart is pounding. Fear and excitement have mingled into one emotion, one rush of anticipation. Even when he was on tour he had never had to go under cover, follow someone and be discreet, so this is a new experience for him. He loves the thrill of it.

 

Bucky takes the stairs two at a time. He jumps the last few to the ground and lands with a soft thud, the impact making his hair fall over his forehead. Steve wants to push that hair back with his fingers, feel the soft strands against his skin, wrap it around his fingers and tug Bucky’s head back…

 

Steve cuts that thought off before it gets too far. As fun as it is to fantasise, Steve has plans and the last thing Steve needs is to introduce himself to Bucky with an erection.

 

Steve knows he doesn’t have much time. If Bucky usually meets a friend to walk to school with, or if he chooses to stop in for a coffee again, then Steve will have lost his opportunity to talk with him alone. With this thought spurring him on he steps out of the alley, casting furtive glances over his shoulders to make sure he hasn’t been seen, and heads forward.

 

He puts his earphones in and selects a random song from his playlist to keep up the illusion of having gone out for a run— technically he did go out for a run, he just happened to take a fifteen minute break outside Bucky’s house. A coincidence, anyone would assume. Then he jogs at a steady pace across the road, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor. In order for this to work he needs to be very careful about where he looks.

 

Thirty seconds later, Steve is crashing into Bucky’s side and whipping his head up in what he hopes is a convincing look of surprise. He takes a step back, apologetic, and yanks his earphones out.

 

“I’m so sorry!” Steve gushes, panting and running his fingers through his hair. “I should have been paying attention to where I was going.”

 

Steve has worked up a bit of a sweat from his run and his skin is shining, cheeks pink and hair damp. His t-shirt is tight and stretched thin over his broad shoulders and abs. His biceps fill out the sleeves impressively. Steve is objective enough to know that he’s an attractive person, and if Bucky is attracted to men rather than women he is sure the kid will check him out at least once.

 

“That’s okay,” Bucky assures him, smiling politely and hitching his schoolbag further over his shoulder where it had been knocked down. Then his brows furrow and he looks at Steve a little closer. “Hey, I know you! Steve, right? We have to stop meeting like this.”

 

Steve grins at the joke and at the fact that Bucky remembers him. Steve would have been crushed if, after all this time of pining and meticulous planning, Bucky had forgotten all about him.

 

“I guess we’re even now then, Bucky.” Steve remarks.

 

“I disagree.” Bucky replies, smiling adorably. Up close, his eyes sparkle and his lips are just as pretty as Steve remembers. Steve wants to slide a thumb between those lips and let it rest against Bucky’s tongue. The desire is so strong that for a second he can barely breathe, caught up in his lucid fantasies.

 

“You do?” Steve crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow, smirking good-naturedly to let Bucky know this is not an aggressive pose. Bucky flushes and his eyes drift down momentarily to Steve’s chest, the outline of his nipples through the thin fabric, before he tears his gaze away.

 

“We’d be even if you bought me a coffee.” Bucky tells him in a matter-of-fact way, and then seems to regret it. “Not that— I mean, you obviously don’t have to buy me a coffee, sorry. I didn’t mean…”

 

Bucky trails off, blushing furiously. He looks so embarrassed, shuffling awkwardly in the street and fidgeting with his bag straps, that Steve wants to gather the boy up into his arms. He wants to press kisses all over Bucky’s face and promise him that he never has to be embarrassed again.

 

Steve thinks of the loose change he has rattling about in his pockets. He could go and get a coffee with Bucky - the idea is so tempting that it physically hurts to turn it down - but Steve knows it’s for the best. If he bought Bucky a coffee now they would have maybe ten minutes together before the boy had to rush off the school, and Steve would be left having to arrange another meeting like this one to see Bucky again.

 

No, that won’t do. It would be much better if…

 

“I don’t have any money on me at the moment, I’m afraid.” Steve says regretfully, patting down his chest to emphasise his point and hoping the coins in his pocket won’t rattle and give him away.

 

“Oh, yeah, no. Of course.” Bucky nods, seemingly taking this as a rejection. “You don’t have to—”

 

“So I guess I’ll have to get your number so I can take you out another time.” Steve hurried on, speaking over the boy’s babbling. Bucky snaps his mouth shut with an audible click, eyes widening. He swallows hard, opening and shutting his mouth a few times like he can’t figure out what to say.

 

“You want my number?” He settles on eventually, and Steve has a second to panic that he has read this entire situation wrong before he calms himself down. Bucky is seventeen. He probably hasn’t been on many dates, and an older man hitting on him might be quite daunting. He decides to tone down the flirting and work on making himself friendly and charming.

 

“Yeah. I mean— yeah, not if you don’t want to give it, of course. But yes, please.” Steve rubs the back of his neck embarrassedly for good nature, giving Bucky his best boyish grin.

 

“Definitely.” Bucky murmurs, sliding his phone out of his pocket as he keeps his eyes trained on Steve’s face. It’s definitely an ego boost, and it unwinds a little ball of stress in Steve’s chest to know that Bucky finds him attractive.

 

Steve pulls his own phone out of his pocket and creates a new contact, typing in the numbers as Bucky reads them off. When Bucky is finished he hovers uncertainly, looking at Steve’s phone as though he’s not sure what to do now. Steve hopes that means no one has ever done this for Bucky before, as mean as that might be. That way Steve would get to be all of Bucky’s firsts, and that thought… that thought gets him dangerously aroused.

 

“Should I— um, should I get your number?” Bucky asks nervously, shuffling his feet.

 

Steve steps closer so that their feet are almost touching. He’s half a head taller than Bucky but they are close enough that Steve could rest his chin on the boy’s head if he wanted to. As it is, he leans down a little and whispers into Bucky’s ear.

 

“I’ll call you.” He murmurs, his voice low and raspy. He’s worried that he might be laying it on too thick and that he will frighten Bucky off, but the boy looks mesmerised. He’s staring up at Steve in wonder: pupils dilated, lips damp and slightly parted. He’s breathing heavily and Steve would give anything to bend down and kiss Bucky’s lips, lick inside his mouth and show him how his body can react to pleasure.

 

A car zooms past them, startling Bucky into reality. Steve masks his disappointment: it would be far too early for that anyway. 

 

“I should get to school.” Bucky blurts out, walking backwards in the direction of the coffee shop and the high school. “I don’t want to be late. Again.”

 

Steve nods in acknowledgment, smiling warmly. Bucky resembles a skittish animal, like any sudden movement might scare him away, and Steve doesn’t want to be associated with anxiety in the boy’s mind. Steve is actually quite proud of himself for pulling off this whole meeting successfully that he doesn’t feel the need to take up any more of Bucky’s time. He’ll text the boy, set up a date, and they can spend all the time together that they want then. For now, though, he will settle for getting Bucky’s number and - if his appearance was anything to go by - turning him on.

 

“Of course. Stay in school, don’t do drugs and all that.” Steve nods wisely, like he’s an expert in these things.

 

“I’m a senior.” Bucky tells him earnestly, still walking backwards. “Seventeen. I go to high school. But I’m a senior. In case you were worried— I mean, _wondering_.”

Steve nods again, amused this time. His amusement must show on his face because Bucky blushes and fiddles with his bag straps again. He stumbles on the sidewalk, hitting his heels against it since he wasn’t looking where he was going, and rights himself with flushed cheeks. Steve decides to take pity on him.

 

“I’ll call you about that coffee, then.” He says, his stomach beginning to flutter. Something like excitement thrums through his body and a grin spreads over his face. Bucky notices and mirrors it with a smile of his own that he promptly tries to hide.

 

“Yes. Absolutely.” He nods, biting his lip in a way that isn’t meant to be as seductive as it is. “Call me.”

 

Then he’s turning around and jogging away from Steve, his rucksack bouncing up and down with each stride. Steve can’t help but watch Bucky as he disappears, with his long legs and his perfect ass and the gentle slope of his shoulder as it meets his neck. The boy is a work of art and Steve very much wants to appreciate the finery of it.

 

That can wait though. For now, Steve has Bucky’s number and his own right hand.

 

***

 

Later that evening Steve sends Bucky a text. He’s been itching to do it all day, arguing with himself and coming up with the most ridiculous reasons why he should wait. At first it was that Bucky was at school and wouldn’t be able to reply. Then it was that Bucky might be with friends or he might be doing his homework, then he might be with family. It’s irrational and Steve knows he’s shooting himself in the foot here but he doesn’t want to share Bucky. When they talk, Steve wants to be the centre of the boy’s attention, just like Bucky is rapidly becoming the centre of Steve’s attention.

 

So he texts him around eight in the evening, after Steve has finished the washing up and has settled in front of the television. The screen is black and the remote sits innocuously next to him, ready to be a distraction if necessary.

 

‘ _Hey_ ’ seems to plain, ‘ _Hi, its Steve’_ too boring. God, Steve isn’t a stranger to how difficult socialising is but he’s never had to text a stranger like this since he was a teenager. What the fuck is he supposed to say?

 

He finally settles on ‘ _Maybe next time we bump into each other it won’t result in casualties?’_ He figures that it’s better to be humorous and familiar opposed to sending a simple ‘hey’. He wonders if Bucky is one of those people who will wait a couple of hours to reply so he doesn’t look desperate, or if he’s been waiting by his phone for Steve to text. Steve hopes Bucky has been waiting for him to text; he doesn’t think he could survive another couple of hours of waiting.

 

Thankfully the typing icon appears no more than a couple of minutes later and Steve sits up straighter in his seat, heart pounding.

 

‘ _I’ve been told I’m quite unobservant. You’ll have to tell me where you’ll be so I’ll know not to spill any boiling drinks over you.’_

 

Steve grins. Bucky has matched his tone perfectly and Steve feels a sudden rush of relief that his plan earlier was successful. Hanging around the coffee shop like a creep would probably have been counterproductive; it wouldn’t have been long before he was arrested for perving on high school children, even though it’s only one high school student he’s interested in.

 

‘ _Now where’s the fun in that?_ ’ Steve debates putting a kiss at the end of his text but ultimately decides against it. He’s never been one for kisses or emojis in texts. If Bucky were to do it he would probably overflow with affection but it just isn’t _him_.

 

 _I’m sure we could think of something fun to do?_ ’ Bucky’s reply is instantaneous.

 

Steve is sure they could too. He smiles and burrows down into the cushions, settling in for the next couple of hours. He can only hope he gets to fill those hours with talking to Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! <3


	4. Chapter 4

The alley outside Bucky’s house becomes familiar to Steve over the next few days. He sets off for a morning jog around seven and has time to lap Bucky’s neighbourhood twice before he settles into what he’s come to think of as his alleyway, watching Bucky get ready for school. Occasionally the boy’s curtains are drawn so all Steve is able to see is a shadow, but more often than not Steve has full view into his room.

 

Bucky changes into his school clothes first thing in the morning - usually consisting of jeans and sweatshirts depending on how late Bucky is that day - before packing his schoolbag. Steve has quickly picked up Bucky’s schedule so he knows which books the boy will struggle to find each morning. After that, Bucky will jog downstairs, grab something to eat and hurry out the door on his way to the coffee shop where they first met to meet his friend. Steve always follows behind him a fair distance away, but so far the only thing he’s been able to find out about Bucky’s friend - other than what he’s found out from the school files, of course - is that she’s fiercely protective and frustratingly illusive.

 

Watching Bucky change is like watching porn for the first time: Steve feels undeniably guilty but not guilty enough to stop, excitement and anticipation bubbling over inside him every time. Seeing the expanse of Bucky’s skin slowly come into view as Bucky peels his shirt off his body has Steve’s skin tingling and his breath quickening, and if it wouldn’t draw his attention away from Bucky he would take advantage of the alley’s privacy to press a hand against his cock, tantalising pressure that would leave him breathless.

 

Today is no different in the sense that Steve is once again hiding down the alley by Bucky’s house, but something is definitely different with Bucky. For the last couple of days the boy has been looking over his shoulder, seeming nervous and cautious when he has no reason to be. This morning? The curtains are shut.

 

Steve arrives later than usual, having forgotten to reset his alarm, and only bothers to do one lap of the neighbourhood instead of two. When Bucky’s house finally comes into view Steve can’t keep the smile off his face, and yet when he gets closer he can clearly see the curtains to Bucky’s bedroom window are drawn tightly shut, blocking Steve from looking in. His stomach drops and he’s left with a pit of swirling anxiety: does Bucky know about Steve? Does he suspect? Has he just forgotten to draw his curtains this morning?

 

Suddenly the front door swings open and Bucky hops over the threshold, taking the steps one at a time. About halfway down the stairs his head jerks up as he seems to be listening to something inside, then his features scrunch up into a scowl and he looks over his shoulder. He yells something back - Steve is too far away to hear more than some distant angry sounding noises - and slams the door behind him so hard that the structure of the whole house seems to shake.

 

Bucky looks more cautious as he walks to school this time, glancing over his shoulder once or twice and wrapping his arms around his own stomach. If Steve were going to guess, he’s say Bucky is looking out for something. The thought sets his heart pounding: first the curtains and now this? Steve might be in danger of being caught out if he’s not careful. Deciding that he needs to rethink his options now, Steve peels off down the nearest road, tearing his eyes away from Bucky and leaving the boy to walk to school by himself.

 

He spends the rest of the day kicking around in his apartment, feeling restless and insecure. He watches several documentaries and various slasher films, none of them managing to capture his attention for more than half an hour. He’s too fixated on Bucky, on whether he’s getting suspicious. They’ve exchanged a few more texts since their last meeting but so far Steve hasn’t initiated any sort of meeting and neither has Bucky, probably too nervous. Light flirtation is the most they’ve engaged in and Steve finds himself craving more.

 

His mind quickly wanders to less innocent things, and Steve finds himself fantasising about Bucky’s lips of all things. The boy has wonderful lips, red and plush and just the right amount of curve to give him an innocent looking semi permanent smirk. Steve wonders what it would be like to rub the tip of his dick over those lips, first the top then the bottom, leave precome hot and sticky over that angelic mouth. He imagines the boy’s pink tongue darting out, running over his lips to taste Steve, curious and desperate to please. He pictures himself feeding his cock between those lips, the tight wet heat of Bucky’ tongue against Steve’s slit and the way the pressure around him would feel so incredible. Before he realises what’s happening Steve has a hand down his pants, fingers curled loosely around his dick.

 

With one hand still on his cock, Steve uses the other to draw his laptop closer to him and fire it up, bringing up the picture he saved of Bucky. It’s the one from the school website: in it, Bucky’s hair is parted to one side and brushed neatly, a few escaping strands tucked behind his ears. His smile is a little frozen, a little forced for the camera, but the skin around his eyes is crinkled and he looks genuinely happy. His school obviously doesn’t enforce a uniform but they’ve clearly made their students dress smartly for the picture. Bucky is wearing a white button up shirt with his collar folded neatly, and a plain black tie around his neck. Steve wonders if Bucky would let Steve fuck him in those clothes, the trousers around his ankles and the tie wrapped around his wrists, or maybe stuffed in his mouth to stifle his cries as Steve fucks him open…

 

Steve comes, breathless and messy, into his fist. The screen of his laptop turns off, standby mode kicking in. He struggles to catch his breath, sucking in deep lungfuls of air as his chest rises and falls with the force of his panting. God, Steve is pathetic.

 

Once he’s cleaned himself up and changed into something a little warmer, he decides to take a walk to try and clear his head. He’s not sure how much time he spent hanging around in his apartment but it’s dark outside, an icy breeze biting at Steve’s cheeks and the tip of his nose. He’s wearing tracksuits and a hoodie with the hood pulled up to protect his face from the wind.

 

He isn’t really sure where he’s walking - he doesn’t have a destination in mind - but the escape from his apartment is wholly welcomed. He’s just managed to push Bucky out of his mind for the most part when he catches sight of something in his periphery: he squints to get a better look and— shit, is that _Bucky_?

 

Steve freezes in place, completely caught off guard. He isn’t sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing; he hadn’t been meaning to follow Bucky tonight yet here he is, standing ten feet or so behind the boy. It’s a sign, Steve decides, there’s no other explanation for it. He had been questioning whether or not he should continue and the universe brought him here, essentially telling him that he’s making the right decision.

 

A slow smile spreads over his face, small and unnoticeable, and he takes a few steps forwards. No sooner has he made his decision, though, Steve notices something else. As Bucky walks past the entrance to an alley similar to the one Steve stays hidden in, hands shoved into his pockets, somebody steps out of the alley and grabs Bucky by the collar, yanking him violently towards them.

 

Steve’s heart skips a beat, and for a second all he can hear is his own blood rushing past his ears. It feels a little like a head-rush, like when you stub your toe and you have a second of being fine before the pain hits. He doesn’t know what to do, and then he does. Or rather, he allows instinct to take over, sensing that Bucky is in danger, and charges forward without thinking about how this could impact him.

 

The alley isn’t long but it’s narrow, barely enough room for two people to stand comfortably in it shoulder to shoulder. It’s dark out but the light from a nearby street lamp casts an eerie orange glow on the whole scene, flickering shadows dancing over the walls and the ground. There are three of them, all without anything to hide their faces. Unconcerned with being caught then, Steve realises. They must have complete confidence in themselves. His fists clench.

 

One has Bucky up against the wall, shoulders pinned under the weight of his arm. He’s right up in Bucky’s face, so close that the boy has to turn his face away to avoid the man’s spittle flying onto his face. Steve imagines he can clearly see the indentations of the wall on Bucky’s cheek, soft skin grazed against the bricks. Steve isn’t sure if they have weapons of any kind - knives maybe, hidden under their clothes - but in that moment his own safety is the last thing on his mind.

 

“What the fuck,” he roars, squaring his shoulders and using his full height to command their attention. “Do you think you’re doing?”

 

Four heads snap in Steve’s direction: the three men who have Bucky against the wall squint in confusion and, in one case, irritation, whereas Bucky’s eyes are moons, imploring Steve to help him. Or at least that’s what Steve likes to imagine they’re doing.

 

“Fuck off, right?” The tallest one says, swaggering towards Steve confidently though Steve can tell from the tic in his jaw that he’s sized him up correctly. “Mind your own business.”

 

“Get away from him.” Steve says, voice calm but firm. This is their one chance, he decides, to get the fuck out of here. If they don’t take it… that’s up to them.

 

“He told you to fuck _off_ —” The skinny man, the one touching Bucky, starts to speak but Steve has had enough. His fist collides with the man’s nose with a satisfying crunch, the feeling of bone and cartilage breaking somewhat comfortingly familiar to Steve. The man falls to the floor in a heap, knocked out cold from a single blow. This is easier than Steve thought it would be.

 

The second man charges at him, trying and failing to rugby tackle him to the floor, but Steve spins with the man’s motion and sends him flying headfirst into the brick wall. His head thumps against the hard surface; he swats lightly at Steve’s arms a few more times but soon enough he drops to the floor in an unmoving pile as well. The last man stands where he is for a few seconds, gaping down at his two unconscious friends, before trying to make a run for it past Steve and out onto the street.

 

Steve doesn’t let him. He had his chance and he didn’t take it, so he isn’t getting off easy now. The thought that these men were actually going to hurt Bucky has his blood boiling and he’s filled with a sudden sharp and insurmountable rage. They _touched_ Bucky— Steve is going to make sure this guy is an example to anyone who would try to hurt Steve’s boy.

 

He’s easily stopped; all Steve has to do is lift a hand and catch the bastard around the neck before he can make it to the main street. Then all he has to do is slam him against the wall so hard his breath is knocked out of him, and he’s left gasping for air in Steve’s unforgiving hold.

 

“Please,” The man gulps, tries desperately to suck in oxygen. “Please.”

 

“You were gonna hurt him, huh?” Steve says, voice dangerously low. He has no idea what he’s going to do to this man, how far his anger will take him. “You think you get to touch him?”

 

“No!” He replies, sounding breathy and lightheaded. Good. “I’m sorry— please!”

 

Steve’s first tightens and he’d say the man has another five seconds, give or take, before a voice from behind him breaks through the fog that’s settled around Steve’s head.

 

“Let him go!” Bucky sounds weak, and when Steve looks over his shoulder he realises why. He lets the man drop onto the ground, completely forgetting about him, and he doesn’t get up.

 

Bucky looks terrified. He must have slid down the wall and onto the floor sometime during Steve’s fight, and now he’s sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. His eyes are wide and frightened and when Steve takes a step closer he flinches violently, scrambling to get away.

 

“Okay, okay.” Steve soothes him, holding his hands up placatingly as though approaching a wild animal, like any second he might flee. “Easy, Bucky. Just calm down. You’re safe now.”

 

“Don’t come any closer!” Bucky cries, voice thin and strained. He sounds like he’s holding in tears, and Steve just wants to gather the boy into his arms and never let go.

 

“Bucky, just relax.” Steve tries again, maintaining eye contact with Bucky.

 

“It’s you, isn’t it.” Bucky whispers, taking Steve off guard. What? “I saw you outside my house. You were in the alley. I thought it was a coincidence but… I saw you there again. And then outside my school— you follow me to school. And now you followed me here. I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

 

Steve would snort at the irony if he wasn’t so worried: all his time spent worrying about whether Bucky would catch him following him, and he gets caught out when he was just trying to take an innocent stroll. Typical, he thinks.

 

“I’m gonna need to check you aren’t hurt, okay? Don’t move, I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.” Steve takes another shuffling step closer and Bucky takes a step backwards, further towards the road. There are still three unconscious men littering the floor around them and it really isn’t the ideal place for this, but Steve isn’t going to let Bucky run away. Especially not after what just happened.

 

“Don’t run.” He says firmly, then realises how threatening that sounds when Bucky makes a high pitched sound in the back of his throat. “I’m going to make sure you aren’t hurt, and then I’m going to call a cab to take you home. I’m not letting you walk home alone after that.”

 

“What the fuck.” Bucky whimpers to himself, arms wrapped around his stomach now. Tears are streaking his cheeks, Steve notices for the first time, and his hair is messy. Steve wants to tuck it behind his ears for him.

 

“Stay still, please.” Steve murmurs, and smiles encouragingly when Bucky doesn’t back away from him this time. “Were you hurt?”

 

“Stay away from me.” Bucky breathes, eyes wild. He looks like he might be about to hurl himself into the road in place of staying anywhere near Steve, so Steve backs up farther. The last thing he wants is to have to chase Bucky through the street at this time, considering how close to tears the boy is.

 

“Just calm down.” Steve tries to placate him. “You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you, just calm down.” Advancing appears to be a bad idea as it makes Bucky cringe away from him, eyes darting about desperately for an escape route. _It’s just because he doesn’t know you yet,_ Steve reasons with himself as his heart sinks. _When he knows how crazy you are about him he’ll love you._

 

“It’s you, isn’t it.” Bucky whimpers, completely derailing Steve’s train of thought. “I saw you outside my house. I thought it was just a coincidence but then I saw someone in the alley opposite my room. I’ve seen you outside my school, always just when we’re finishing, and now you’re here. I always feel like there’s someone watching me— it’s you, isn’t it.”

 

His voice breaks a few times and he gradually grows more and more hysterical. Steve is speechless— all this time he thought he’d been so clever, gotten away with it, and Bucky had known the whole time? Had been thinking it was some creep who might want to hurt him? Guilt floods Steve in a rush, leaving him feeling like he might heave into the gutter.

 

“Bucky—” Steve starts, preparing to tell the boy everything. How Steve had seen Bucky and had instantly fallen in love with him: the only person Steve has felt comfortable around after coming home. How Steve knows they’re perfect for each other, how he’ll look after Bucky and take such good care of him, how Bucky will never need anybody else, if Bucky will just give him a chance. 

 

Bucky interrupts him.“What do you want from me?” He asks, shaky but firm, faux confidence a thin layer covering his shattered nerves. “Are you going to hurt my family?”Steve’s stomach drops. He wants to kill whoever made Bucky so wary, so unwilling to trust.

 

“Of course not!” He breathes out in a rush, forgetting his earlier decision and crowding Bucky up against the wall. He places a gentle hand on each of Bucky’s cheeks, cupping the boy’s face and marvelling at how it fits so beautifully in the palm of his hand. He dutifully ignores the squeak of alarm Bucky lets out. He won’t be scared of Steve when he sees he’s no threat.

 

“Sweetheart,” Steve hums, thumb stroking across the soft skin of Bucky’s cheek. He’s so soft all over, no sharp edges. No rough stubble on his face, no coldness in his eyes. “I would never do anything to hurt you. Ever. You never have to be afraid of me.”

 

“I need to go home.” Bucky breathes, mirroring Steve’s volume, unintentionally protecting the atmosphere that’s settled around them. 

 

“Of course.” Steve repeats. “I’ll walk you.”

 

“Please don’t.” Bucky stumbles to the side and then backwards, effectively backing away from Steve and into the main street. Admittedly the alley they’re in is littered with unconscious criminals but the main street can’t be any safer. Something inside Steve flares with anxiety, concerned about the boy’s safety.

 

“Bucky—” 

 

“Please just stay away from me.” Bucky hiccups, breathing shakily. “Just— just stay away from me.”

 

Bucky is running before Steve can reply, his footfalls seeming to echo all around them as he gets further and further away. Steve contemplates running after him but decides not to: chasing after Bucky in the dark when he’s just been assaulted seems like a sure fire way to terrify him, and that isn’t really the best first impression. He watches as Bucky disappears into the night, shrouded by darkness, and it feels like the boy is taking Steve’s heart with him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! <3


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky keeps his curtains closed after that. Steve can’t blame him at first - Bucky went through a terrifying experience after all - but when a week passes, then two, and Bucky still hasn’t returned to normal, Steve starts to get impatient. Why would Bucky think that Steve was a threat? Steve had told him that he was in love with him— Bucky didn’t need to be afraid or anxious, and he certainly didn’t need to be petty and deprive Steve of the few moments he got to see the boy. After almost three weeks of only being able to watch Bucky’s hunched shoulders walk to and from school, he decides enough is enough.

 

‘ _you don’t need to be scared of me_ ’, he texts Bucky, tossing his phone from hand to hand for a few seconds before placing it pointedly on the bed in front of him and opening Netflix. Before he can even decide on a show to watch he hears his phone beep with the rare notification that he has a message. He shoves his laptop to the side, eager to see what Bucky has sent him.

 

‘ _Stop texting me.’_

 

Steve frowns. That’s not very polite: Steve had been trying to make Bucky feel better and Bucky just didn’t want to hear it. Something inside Steve’s chest twisted painfully at the thought that he might never want to hear it, no matter how many times Steve reassured him.

 

 _‘I love you. I would never hurt you._ ’ Steve types back hurriedly, worried that Bucky might put his phone down. He contemplates jogging towards Bucky’s house to try and see Bucky texting him, watch the expression on his face change as a new message popped up. Of course in Steve’s fantasies, Bucky would be smiling and happy.

 

‘ _You don’t love me. I’ve met you two times and now you’re fucking stalking me. Please stay away from me_.’

 

Steve inhaled sharply. What the fuck does Bucky think Steve is— a rapist? He’s not a stalker, he’s in _love_. Steve is in the middle of replying, of sending him a message trying to explain everything in a way that would make Bucky understand, but Bucky must be typing as well because Steve receives a new message before he’s finished typing his.

 

_‘I can’t talk to you anymore. I’m blocking you. Don’t try and contact me again.’_

 

Its here that Steve begins to panic because he hadn’t ever actually considered the possibility that Bucky would block him, would find a way to ignore Steve forever. He sends a few more messages to double check, being extra thorough by sending provocative messages, messages that he _knows_ Bucky wouldn’t be able to ignore, but everything is dead silent on the other end. Bucky really has blocked him.

 

Steve inhaled through his nose a few times, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his knuckles to his temples. He can feel the beginning of a throbbing headache starting at the back of his skull and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with a bowl of popcorn and a good film. Well, no. He wants to curl up beside Bucky, an arm slung over the boy’s waist and his breathing muffled in the crook of Bucky’s neck, but that isn’t possible right now. The boy is probably talking to his friends, doing homework, spending time with family—

 

 _Family_. Steve has an idea so sudden and unexpected that it takes him a few moments to process it for the amazing idea that it is. Digging up his laptop again he hurriedly opens the document he saved with all Bucky’s personal details on it, easily finding his home landline number. If Steve calls Bucky’s house phone then it’s probable that one of his parents will answer, will call the boy down and Bucky will have to talk to him. Sure, it’s not a foolproof plan but it’s better than any other outcome of Steve’s current predicament.

 

Steve’s hands are trembling as he dials Bucky’s landline number, having to erase and retype the numbers multiple times before he gets it right. His heart is crashing against his rib cage as he presses dial and holds the phone up to his ear, breath coming shallow and way too quick. He waits maybe three rings before there’s a click on the other end and a pleasant sounding woman’s voice is greeting him.

 

“Hello?” She says, voice tilting upwards at the end, a question. Steve really should have planned this out more thoroughly because now he’s at a loss for words, gaping on the other end of the phone like a fish.

 

“Um, yes, hi.” Steve responds, hurrying to speak before she can hang up on the stuttering stranger. “I’m a friend of Bucky’s— I was wondering if he’s there right now?”

 

He is, Steve is almost certain, unless he’s left his house within the last five minutes. Still, there’s a little seed of doubt that has Steve questioning whether he’s trying in vain. All he wanted to do was talk to Bucky but the boy had to make it so difficult— it could have been far easier than this. If Bucky would just _listen_ to him Steve could explain everything.

 

“Of course,” the woman replies pleasantly. There’s a fumbling on the other end like she’s moving around and if Steve closes his eyes he can picture her walking upstairs, going to find Bucky. He’s so close to having a real conversation with his boy that he can practically taste his own excitement.

 

“Who shall I say is calling?” Bucky’s mother continues. Steve briefly considers giving her a fake name but decides it’s ultimately easier if he just tells the truth. Besides, he plans to be spending a lot of time with the woman’s son so she’s going to find out who he is sooner or later. Best to implement the knowledge now.

 

“Steve. Thank you so much.” Steve says politely while he waits for her to pass him over to her son.

The wait is nerve wracking. Steve feels like he could count to eternity a million times over in the time it takes for the phone to be handed over the Bucky and for the boy to put the receiver to his ear, breathe in shakily and say, “Steve?”

 

Steve lets his breath out in a relieved whoosh. It’s okay. Bucky is here, Steve hasn’t lost him, the boy isn’t going anywhere. Bucky seems to hear his sigh and makes a strangled sounding noise in the back of his throat, a cross between a whimper and a sob. Steve realises it might be a little creepy to call someone up for the first time and then just breathe down the line at them, but he can be forgiven he figures.

 

“How the fuck did you get this number?” Bucky asks him, voice deceptively hard. His steely tone betrays the wobble in his voice. He’s nervous, Steve realises, but he doesn’t need to be.

 

There are a million things Steve could say to that. He could explain the truth, he could come up with some fancy lie, he could even try to persuade Bucky into thinking he gave it to Steve himself. However, at that moment Steve blurts out the first thing that comes into his head, and it turns out not to be the best idea.

 

“You closed your curtains.” He says, trying not to sound too accusing. They’re Bucky’s curtains at the end of the day. He can do whatever he likes with them. “How will I see you now?”

 

On the other end of the line, Bucky starts to cry. When Bucky hangs up on him, Steve isn’t really surprised.

 

***

 

Bucky leaves the house early. This isn’t a bad thing for Steve because he’s been there for the first forty five minutes; actually it probably works better for both of them. Steve has been getting antsy and he thinks if he couldn’t do this within the next five minutes he’d pull his own hair out. As for Bucky… well. Steve doesn’t want him to be late to school.

 

Bucky has almost reached his school when Steve strikes, jogging forward to cover the distance between them, grabs Bucky as gently as he can by the arm and drags him into the nearest alleyway. It’s dark, hidden away by overhanging buildings, and deserted. Bucky shrieks, arms flying everywhere as he tries to bat Steve away. Steve manages to dodge a few of his hits before he spins Bucky round and shoves him against the wall.

 

To Steve’s confusion Bucky doesn’t fully relax when he sees that it’s only Steve, not some random mugger. He stops trying to hit Steve, but the tension doesn’t drain from his body in the way that Steve thought it would.

 

“What are you doing?” Bucky hisses, eyes darting around like crazy. Steve edges closer, easing his hips flush against Bucky’s and resting his forearms on either side of Bucky’s face. The boy’s eyes flick down to Steve’s lips on instinct before fluttering up to his eyes, and Steve is delighted to see his pupils are dilated. He’d known Bucky had found him attractive, but it’s glad to know that’s still the case.

 

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs, hot breath ghosting over Bucky’s mouth. “You don’t need to be afraid. I swear to you I would never hurt you.”

 

Bucky is still staring at him, wide eyed with his body absolutely still, and Steve can’t help himself. The boy is just so beautiful, with wide eyes and dark hair and pale, unblemished skin. Steve leans forwards and brushes their lips together once, twice, before easing backwards. Bucky, who hasn’t kissed back those first couple of times, licks his lips subconsciously. Steve grins boyishly.

 

“You see?” He whispers. He brings a hand up to stroke Bucky’s cheek, strokes the pad of his thumb over Bucky’s bottom lip, and follows that with his own lips. He keeps it slow and gentle, focusing on drawing Bucky out of his shell; slowly, so slowly, the boy begins to lean into the kiss. It’s just the tiniest bit of extra pressure at first, Bucky’s soft lips pressed firmer against Steve’s own, but it makes Steve’s heart soar.

 

It also gives him the confidence to trace Bucky’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue, to slip his tongue inside and lick into the boy’s mouth. It’s even better than Steve had imagined: Bucky tastes sweet with a hint of something bitter like coffee, and every stroke of his tongue inside Bucky’s mouth is exciting, like discovering a new secret or searching out treasure. By the time Steve pulls away for the second time they’re both panting, lips damp and cheeks flushed, and Bucky had most definitely been kissing back.

 

Bucky looks pretty shocked with the turn of events. His chest is heaving and his body is trembling slightly— Steve puts it down to the cold and crowds in closer so that the boy can share his body heat.

 

“Oh my god.” Bucky is whispering to himself, eyes damp with tears brimming over. “Oh my god.” Steve swipes at a stray tear that must have escaped and brings his finger to his mouth, licking the tear away. Bucky watches, and shakes harder.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Bucky asks, sounding heartbroken. Steve exhales heavily out of his nose and ducks his head, fitting it into the space between Bucky’s neck and his chin. From there it’s easy for him to place open mouthed kisses all over Bucky’s neck and throat, finding new spots that make the boy’s legs tremble and flattening his tongue over the skin that makes Bucky whimper and whine, high pitched in the back of his throat.

 

“I’m doing this,” Steve replies in between sucking bruises onto the boy’s neck. “Because I love you.”

 

Steve’s hand slides up the inside of Bucky’s thigh, wishing there wasn’t the barrier of denim between them. He can’t imagine how incredible it would be to feel Bucky’s bare skin under his hands, on his tongue, between his teeth…

 

“You don’t love me.” Bucky objects, albeit weakly. “You don’t know me.”

 

Steve inhales sharply and then bites down roughly right over Bucky’s pulse point in protect. His hand slips further up until he’s cupping Bucky’s cock through his jeans, massaging it through the thin fabric and rubbing the pad of his thumb in tight circles where he images the slit of the boy’s cock is.

 

“I love you so much.” Steve tells Bucky, leaving no room for argument. Bucky is gasping and writhing, body taut and arched away from the wall to press his cock further into Steve’s hand. Steve can feel each individual pulse of blood in the boy’s cock as he squeezes it, curls his fingers around it loosely and pumps it through the fabric a few times. Bucky’s face is red, cheeks heavily flushed and eyes glazed over so that, if it weren’t for Bucky’s tight grip around Steve’s forearm, Steve might think that Bucky had no idea what was going on.

 

Steve can’t get enough of the little, “uh, uh, uh,” noises Bucky is making, and they’re getting louder now. Bucky’s whole body is shaking like a leaf and his hips are thrusting, rolling in circles into Steve’s grip. His cock is radiating heat against Steve’s palm even through two layers: he’s about to come.

 

Which is why Steve takes his hand away from the front of Bucky’s pants, steps away from him so that no parts of their bodies are touching and quickly fishes his phone of of his pocket, snapping a picture of the scene in front of him. Bucky is spread out against the brick wall like a model: his legs are spread obscenely and his cock is tenting the fabric of his jeans, so hard that Steve imagines he might even be able to see a wet spot forming through the two layers. His t-shirt is rumpled and the collar has been rugged down to reveal several forming hickeys on the boy’s chest, many more over his neck and throat. His mouth is open and his lips are kiss bruised and shining with spit— his pupils are dilated and his cheeks are flushed pretty pink. He’s the walking advertisement for sex incarnate and now Steve has a picture of it saved on his phone forever.

 

Bucky whines as soon as Steve steps away, hands immediately going to his own cock. Steve grabs his wrists and forces his hands away so he can’t touch himself, so he’s hard and there’s nothing he can do about it but feel it.

 

“You don’t wanna be late for school, Bucky.” Steve reminds him. There’s a steady stream of tears pouring down the boy’s face now, and Steve licks them up. “Don’t shut me out again.”

 

Steve knows that Bucky knows exactly what he means by that. Steve leaves the alley without so much as a backwards glance.

 

As soon as he gets home Steve is shimmying out of his jogging bottoms and retrieving his phone, flicking through until he finds the picture he took of Bucky. He gets his cock in his hand and pumps himself quickly, remembering the way Bucky whined, the way it sounded like the noises were being punched out of him, like he didn’t know to expect the pleasure and, when he got it, he didn’t know what the do with it.

 

He comes into his fist: thick, white ropes of come that he quickly takes a picture of and sends it to Bucky, along with the message, ‘every part of me is yours.’

 

He knows Bucky is in school right now, and he knows the boy will have unblocked his contact. He hopes for a reply, maybe even a video of his own inspired by this morning, Bucky having seen the light and realised that Steve’s love for him is not going away. The only reply he gets is Bucky’s read receipt, and he supposes that’s good enough for now.

 

***

 

Christie is just as fucking annoying as Steve remembers. She sits in her chair opposite him with a bland smile and doesn’t speak for almost twenty minutes, instead choosing to jot down little notes for herself in her notebook and refuse to tell Steve what she’s writing.

 

He wishes he could tell her everything: about Bucky, about falling in love, about what an amazing feeling it is. Not because he wants her to know and certainly not because he thinks she could offer him any useful advice, but because he would love to see the look of carefully concealed surprise on her otherwise expressionless features. She thinks Steve is incapable of forming meaningful connections. Steve wants to prove her wrong.

 

“I met someone.” Steve says before he can stop himself, and then instantly tries to backpeddle when he sees this isn’t going to be something Christie lets go. “Sort of.”

 

“Sort of?” She inquires in that irritating way of here that gets you to continue speaking even though you had no intention of doing so to start with.

 

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, casual, like he isn’t passionately and irrevocably in love. “It’s new. We’re kind of just seeing where it’ll go.”

 

Christie smiles condescendingly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Steve.” She tells him. Bullshit, Steve thinks derisively, but she carries on speaking. “I’m happy for you. My only concern is that it’s too soon— I don’t want you to get yourself into something you later regret, because that could end up hurting you and your partner.”

 

Steve grits his teeth. “It isn’t too soon.” He tells her. “Besides, you were the one pushing me to go out and meet new people.”

 

Christie concedes this with an incline of her head and another empty smile.

 

“Just be careful, Steve.” She says, like she’s imparting great wisdom onto him. “Take it slow. Don’t be afraid to step back and look at it objectively every once in a while.”

 

Steve nods. Christie smiles. Checkmate.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna get this finished I swear

Natasha is one interesting character, Steve concludes after five minutes of talking to her. She’s fiery and cocksure of herself and as soon as Steve had sat down next to her she had levelled him with a death glare so intense Steve almost spun on his heel and hightailed it out of there. But at the same time, Steve can see the underlying kindness in her, the fondness that maybe she doesn’t want to let show. As soon as they’d started talking about Bucky her eyes had softened and she couldn’t keep the affection out of her voice.

 

Steve had stayed away from Bucky for about three days - ‘stayed away’ meaning he had avoided making contact, because watching the boy had become addictive - and that was all he could manage before it became unbearable. One thing he had noticed though is that whenever Bucky wasn’t on his own, he was with Natasha.

 

He hadn’t known who she was at first and, after a raging fit of jealousy had seen him trash his sitting room, it hadn’t been hard to find out about the girl. She was not, turns out, Bucky’s secret girlfriend. Just his best friend, and the person Bucky seems to trust most in the world, so naturally Steve had to investigate and find out whether the boy had told her anything about him.

 

He had tracked her movements over the course of three days and, by a stroke of luck, discovered that today is the day she meets Bucky in the coffee shop Steve first saw him in. Knowing Bucky would be late - he may have shut the curtains but Steve could still see the boy’s silhouette getting out of bed ten minutes late - he decided to give Natasha five minutes on her own before joining her.

 

Which is where he’s sitting now, attempting to prompt a conversation and learn something new about his Bucky.

 

“Tell me again,” Natasha intones coolly, arching a perfect eyebrow at Steve and running her fingertip round and round the edge of her coffee cup. “How you met Bucky.”

 

It isn’t phrased as a question which may be why it’s all the more daunting to answer, but Steve knows this is a necessary pain. He has to win over Bucky’s best friend, has to make her like him, has to make _Bucky_ see that she likes him. The phone call to Bucky’s parents was one thing but actually meeting them? That will be terrifying, and it’ll be much better for him if he already has Bucky’s best friend on his side.

 

“In here, actually.” Steve gestured around the small cafe, not seeing any reason to hide how they met. “He sort of… spilled coffee on me in his rush to get to school. Since then we’ve texted each other a bit, met up a couple times.”

 

None of that is a lie.

 

Natasha snorts fondly at the mention of Bucky’s clumsiness, before her expression moulds back into an impassive mask. “That sounds like Bucky,” she nods. “But I’m curious as to why he didn’t tell me about it.”

 

“I… don’t know, actually.”

 

With this question, despite Natasha’s clear implications, Steve doesn’t have to try to act confused. He genuinely doesn’t know why Bucky didn’t tell his closest friend about him; his confusion must show on his face because Natasha cocks her head to the side and watches him measuredly, like she’s figuring something out. She must come to a conclusion because eventually she straightens out in her chair and shrugs at him.

 

“Bucky’s a mystery sometimes.” She brushes it off. “What did you say you do at the moment?”

 

Steve supposes this must mean he’s passed some initiation test he didn’t know he was taking. He grins and takes a sip of his own coffee, just about to reply when there’s an aborted movement to the side and someone coughs pointedly.

 

Bucky is standing over their table, looking between Natasha and Steve with wide eyes and a slight blush on his cheeks whenever he glances at Steve. He can’t really blame the boy after their last encounter. Steve does feel a bit bad about teasing Bucky like that but he had to make him understand that Steve’s love for him wasn’t going away. If he had to be a little harsh for that to sink in then so be it.

 

“What’s…” Bucky starts, eyes flicking between the two of them again before settling on Steve. He doesn’t smile, but he manages to control his expression into something neutral. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

 

“I thought I’d surprise you!” Steve grins up at him, pushing his chair back and handing Bucky the spare cup of coffee. “I suspected you might be late, so I thought I’d save you some time. Enjoy.”

 

Bucky swallows, hands fluttering in the air before he takes the coffee suspiciously out of Steve’s hand. He inhales slowly and then smiles at Natasha.

 

“Go wait for me outside?” He suggests. “I’ll be right out.”

 

As soon as the door shuts behind Natasha - who, strangely, hadn’t put up much of a fuss about being kicked out of the cafe - Bucky is rounding on Steve and slamming the coffee back down on the table. He looks a little angry, but mostly he just looks frightened.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here? Talking to Nat?” He hisses, not giving Steve a chance to reply before he’s continuing. “Stay away from her. Stay away from me, okay?” His false bravado is cute, really, but it also hurts. Bucky doesn’t understand yet that Steve would never do anything to hurt him— he obviously doesn’t, or he wouldn’t be so adamant about keeping him away from everyone Bucky knows,

 

“Are you sure that’s what you want? After what you did last time I saw you?” Steve asks gently, not so much to challenge the boy as to remind him. Bucky flushes bright red, scowling, but doesn’t make any move to reply; Steve shuffles forward a step so that they’re shoulder to shoulder and murmurs in his ear.

 

“It’s okay that you liked it, Bucky. You don’t have to feel ashamed.”

 

“What do you _want_?” Bucky pleads, standing very still.

 

“Dinner,” Steve answers, smiling softly at him. “With you. You can come over to my apartment and I’ll cook for you— whatever you want to eat.”

 

“That’s not happening.” Bucky replies immediately. “Forget it. I don’t have to— just… stay away from Natasha. Okay? Please.”

 

He doesn't give Steve a chance to reply because the next second he’s turning and hurrying through the door, taking Natasha by the elbow and walking away from Steve. He looks back once over his shoulder, eyes meeting Steve’s through the window. The coffee site abandoned on the table.

 

***

 

Bucky’s mother doesn’t work in the day. She takes the night shift four days a week at the local hospital, and so by the time Steve drops by at around three in the afternoon she has only just woken up and, in her sleepy state, doesn’t question it when Steve says he’s a friend of her son. He sits in Bucky’s family home, on the sofa Bucky must have sat in hundreds of times, and looks around the room.

 

The walls are adorned with photos: Bucky as a toddler, growing up, in various school uniforms and on family holidays. He really was a cute kid, and Steve is more than glad that he gets to see this side of Bucky.

“I’m sorry, Steve, did you say cream and sugar?” Bucky’s mother asks, poking her head out of the kitchen to smile at him. He gives her a friendly smile back.

 

“Black is fine, thank you Mrs Barnes.”

 

“Of course. If I’d known you were coming I’d have made some cookies: they always seem to go down well with Bucky’s friends. What did you say you were meeting him for again?”

 

With anyone else Steve might have thought he were being interrogated, but she says it with such an amicable, open expression that Steve concludes she must just be that kind. For a moment his heart pangs with longing and the pain of missing his own mother is almost blinding; he rubs at his chest momentarily as the sensation fades and he’s able to focus on what Bucky’s mother is saying.

 

“Oh, I’m just here to help him with a school project. I could have sworn he said he finishes at three but maybe I got mixed up.” Steve attempts to charm her. Thankfully she doesn’t ask which project or why Bucky hadn’t told her he was coming.

 

“Bucky’s always getting things mixed up, don’t worry about it dear. It’s always nice to meet my son’s friends, if only to know he’s got some. He was such an unsociable thing in elementary school.” Steve laughs along with her, imagining a tiny, adorable Bucky standing alone in kindergarten, refusing to join in with any group activities. The thought makes his heart ache for a different reason.

 

The door clicks open suddenly and there’s a shuffle of feet. Steve sits bolt upright, alert and ready for what might happen next. He doesn’t think Bucky would tell his mother anything bad about him, but he ought to be ready just in case.

 

“Hey mom!” Bucky calls out, and the sound of him kicking off his shoes echoes around the halls. “How was your day?”

 

His footsteps headed towards the sitting room make Steve’s pulse race.

 

“It was good sweetie. There’s a friend of yours here— why didn’t you tell me you invited him over? You know I don’t mind.” The sound stops. There’s a pause, and Steve knows - he just knows somehow - that Bucky already knows it’s him.

 

Sure enough, the boy enters the room with his jaw clenched and his eyes frantic. He reaches up and grasps the straps of his rucksack aimlessly, never looking away from Steve. Steve wonders if he looks right here in Bucky’s house, if he looks like he should be here.

 

“Sorry, mom.” Bucky says stiffly. “I guess I forgot.”

 

“Are you ready to work on your project, Bucky?” Steve asks innocently, delighting in the way he nods and heads for the stairs with a sort of resigned acceptance. Steve excuses them both to Bucky’s mother and hurries after him. The kid must have been taking the steps two at a time because he’s already disappeared upstairs by the time Steve gets to the bottom of the staircase, but Steve has been watching this house for long enough to know how to find Bucky’s bedroom.

 

Still, he’s never been inside it and it’s exciting to see it from this perspective. Bucky has a single bed with a deep blue duvet that, despite its small size, looks comfy enough. Besides, if Steve gets on there first then Bucky can lie on top of him and that would be the best outcome Steve could had foreseen. Other than the bed there isn’t much furniture in the room: a desk shoved carelessly into the corner with various school books scattered over it and a full length mirror near the window. Steve considers moving it just a little to the right so that he’d be able to see it through the window, but knowing how playfully stubborn Bucky is he’d probably just move it back right away.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bucky turns on him as soon as the door is closed behind them. “I told you to stay away.”

 

“You told me to stay away from Natasha,” Steve points out. “You didn’t say anything about your family. Besides, it’s not like I’d hurt them! I just want to get to know your parents.”

 

Bucky groans, gripping his hair with his fingers and pacing the room. Steve watches, half amused and half worried. His desire to be around Bucky outweighs his desire for anything else, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish he could give Bucky what he’s asking for. He hates to see him upset.

 

“Look,” Bucky starts, sitting down on the edge of his bed so suddenly that it bounces a little under his weight. Steve remains standing in the middle of the room, feeling perfectly at home in Bucky’s space.

 

“Look,” he tries again. “What happened last time we saw each other. Thank you, for saving me. If you hadn’t been there I’d have been fucked. But what happened— you can’t do that again. That _can’t_ happen again.”

 

“But you enjoyed it.” Steve reminds him with all the petulance of a toddler. “It’s not like— I’d never _rape_ you, Bucky.”

 

Bucky swallows. Steve crosses the room quickly and sits down next to him, placing his hand carefully on the boy’s knee and sighing with relief when he doesn’t move away. Bucky feels so small next to him that Steve wants to gather him up into his arms and protect him forever, if only he’d let him.

 

To Steve’s horror Bucky starts to cry, his eyes welling up with tears that spill over his cheeks before he can angrily brush them away. Steve uses the sleeve of his hoodie to dry Bucky’s eyes and tries to contain a little flare of excitement when Bucky leans into him and their shoulders knock together.

 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks softly, ducking his head to Bucky’s level. The boy sniffles and shudders, like he isn’t sure whether to cringe away from him or not.

 

“You.” He whispers, his voice breaking. “You’re wrong.”

 

Steve doesn’t respond. Instead he puts a hand on either side of Bucky’s face and draws him closer, kissing him. Steve kisses him deep and messy, their tongues sliding together; they kiss for long enough for Steve to know Bucky’s lips will be red and bruised by the end of it. Steve doesn’t have any trouble with encouraging Bucky to roll onto his back on the bed, and when he crawls over Bucky’s body the boy’s eyes darken and his tongue darts out to taste Steve on his lips.

 

Steve kisses down Bucky’s neck: wet, open mouthed kisses that make Bucky moan and pant and clutch onto Steve for support. When Steve bites gently at the skin between his teeth Bucky throws his head back and groans, wraps his legs around one of Steve’s legs and thrusts his hips forward involuntarily.

 

Bucky is wearing far too many clothes but they aren’t in a safe enough position for them to take any clothes off. Bucky’s sister or mother could come in any second, and he’s fairly sure they wouldn’t approve of him if they caught him deflowering their son. Even so, Steve can’t help but want just that little bit more. He works his way lower down Bucky’s body until his face is just above Bucky’s hips, and he unzips the boy’s trousers with his teeth.

 

Bucky manoeuvres his way onto his elbows so that he’s propped up, watching Steve watch him. Steve eases the boy’s trousers down first, then his underwear, and wraps a hand around Bucky’s tiny waist.

 

“Am I your first?” Steve asks, even though he already knows the answer. He has his lips wrapped around Bucky’s cock before the boy can even reply. Bucky cries out and bites down on his knuckles to stop himself from making too much noise.

 

Steve finds a rhythm, flicking his tongue against the head every so often to feel Bucky jerk and shake in surprise. His body is tense like a live wire, like he could come any second. This is the first time anybody has ever put their mouth on him, so Steve isn’t expecting him to last long.

 

When Steve slides Bucky’s cock down his throat and swallows, the boy comes with a little sob. Steve presses a sweet kiss to the tip and helps Bucky back into his trousers, because he seems fairly out of it at the moment. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and crawls back up the bed, leaning over to kiss the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky is still crying, watching Steve with wide eyes like he doesn’t even know why he’s upset anymore.

 

“What do you want from me?” Bucky whispers. Steve sweeps a lock of hair out of his eyes and smiles.

 

“Have dinner with me this Friday. You can come to my apartment after school, I’ll cook for you. I just want to make you happy, Bucky. I know I can, if you’ll let me.”

 

Bucky pauses. “You’ll leave my friends and family alone, if I go? You won’t try to contact them again?”

 

“Not without asking you.” Steve promises, knowing he can’t agree to anything too extreme. He refuses to make a promise he’s only going to have to break again later on; he won’t betray Bucky like that.

 

“Fine,” Bucky agrees eventually. He feels so small in Steve’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey if you’ve watched misfits then read my [simon/Nathan fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686874) and if you haven’t then watch misfits and then read it or not that’s cool too hope you enjoyed<3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve has issues but then so does Bucky

Steve leads Bucky through the streets of New York, seven blocks from his high school, until they’re just outside Steve’s apartment and his heart is beating so loudly in his chest that he’s sure everybody on this street must be able to hear him.

 

Bucky is a small presence next to him, hunched in on himself with one arm wrapped around his stomach protectively. It stings a little to think that Bucky might be afraid of him, especially since Steve has lost count of the amount of times he’s told the kid he loves him. Anger, red hot and dangerous, simmers in the back of his mind at the prospect of someone hurting this kid— why else would Bucky hear ‘I love you’ and still not understand that Steve would never hurt him. Would _rather_ _die_ than ever lay a hand on Bucky.

 

“Buck,” Steve starts, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand on the kid’s shoulder. He doesn’t miss how Bucky flinches at the touch but it doesn’t deter him; Instead Steve becomes even more determined to show Bucky that he can receive love without pain, and pleasure without consequence. Even if Bucky fights against it at first, Steve knows that he has to stand his ground or Bucky may never know what it’s like to be loved. Real love, like what Steve feels for him.

“Bucky, don’t be afraid.” Steve continues, keeping his hand a solid pressure on Bucky’s shoulder. “You made the right choice. You’re right to come here.”

 

Bucks sniffles loudly and wipes his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. Ducking under Steve’s arm, Bucky takes three quick steps backwards and not one does he make eye contact with the older man. Steve wants to push Bucky up against the wall and make him look at Steve with the same amount of wonder in his eyes that Steve looks at him with. On the other hand, he wants to lay Bucky down on the softest bed he can find and worship his body for days, wants to treat Bucky how he was born to be treated. Like something to be loved and cherished.

 

“Can we just go in? Can we just get it over with, please?” Bucky snarls desperately, fear dripping heavily through the cracks in his angry facade. Steve never wants Bucky to be afraid of him, but he has to understand that Steve isn’t someone to be feared— Steve’s home will become Bucky’s home one day, hopefully soon, and for that to happen the kid has to be totally at ease there. Steve would never force Bucky to live in a place he didn’t feel one hundred percent comfortable in.

 

Steve sighs and pulls his keys from his trouser pocket, fitting them in the lock and twisting. The door opens with a heavy click and, yeah, Steve can see how that would seem ominous to Bucky. In an attempt to calm the kid’s nerves Steve pushes the door open and stands back to let Bucky enter first, but all it seems to do is make him shiver as he takes the first step inside. Steve reminds himself to turn on the heater— to him, the atmosphere in his apartment always seems so humid and cloying, reminds him of long days spent in the desert, but if Bucky’s too cold then he doesn’t mind it being a little warmer.

 

Steve hasn’t thought about his apartment in a long time, hasn’t seen it from an objective point of view since he first moved in; whenever he’s inside he just sees the same old apartment he’s lived in since he came back from his tour. However, watching Bucky enter his home for the first time Steve is reminded of how grand it seemed to him at first. With its marble furnishings and ornately designed ceilings, this place is probably far fancier than anywhere Bucky has stayed before. If that gives Steve a thrill then he doesn’t show it.

 

Bucky’s eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open a little, only a little, but enough to make Steve want to trace the kid’s bottom lip with his thumb. He’s taking short, shaky steps and turning in a circle as he takes in the grandeur of Steve’s apartment, completely and unabashedly shocked. Steve can tell he’s impressed and that gives him the confidence to shut and lock the door behind them both— if Bucky likes his apartment then he won’t have a problem with being here a lot more often.

 

When the lock clicks Bucky startles as though he had genuinely forgotten where he was for a moment. His eyes follow Steve’s hand as he pockets the keys and he swallows, seeming very self conscious all of a sudden. He shoves both of his hands into the pocket of his hoodie just for something to do and looks around expectantly.

 

“What do you want?” Bucky asks accusingly. Steve frowns, confused. Why would Bucky think Steve wanted anything from him? The only thing Steve wants is Bucky.

 

“What do you mean?” Steve replies, shuffling through the hallway to the open plan living and kitchen area. He knows Bucky is following him thanks to the sound of his footfalls, just like when the kid’s voice comes back distracted Steve knows it’s because he’s still drinking in his surroundings. Steve wants to suggest that, if Bucky likes it so much, he can just live there but he knows that would just scare the boy. Right now Steve is treating Bucky like a wild animal: slow, steady movements so as not to scare him into running off.

 

“I mean why am I here? What do you want me to do?” Bucky reiterates, voice distant. Steve drops his bag on one of the sofas - the bigger one: plush black leather that seems to stretch on endlessly - and holds his hand out for Bucky’s school bag. Steve knows Bucky has been back to his house since he got out of school and that he could have dropped it off there if he’d wanted; the fact that he didn’t makes Steve curious as to what the kid has in that bag. Part of him wants to open the bag and have a look - Bucky is in Steve’s home after all, he feels entitled to it - but another part of Steve says that it would be a complete violation of Bucky’s privacy.

 

Even if Steve violated that a long time ago, he doesn’t want to upset Bucky. Not when they’re going to be spending an evening together. Excitement unfurls itself in Steve’s belly: he really does have Bucky all to himself for the evening!

 

“Well,” Steve volunteers, giving the kid one of his genuine smiles that he reserves only for Bucky. “I was thinking I could make you dinner, we could eat and then we could watch a movie. If you wanted to do something else then please, tell me. We’ll do whatever you want.”

 

When Steve next glances up Bucky has a sour look on his face, like Steve said something that disagrees with him. For a second Steve thinks he’s going to complain: start an argument or tell Steve he wants to go or something like that. Then the expression is gone, replaced by an look of miserable resignation that Steve thinks might possibly be worse. Bucky looks almost lost, standing so small and fragile and beautiful in Steve’s massive apartment, and his heart aches for the boy. He wants to go over there, wrap his arms around him— wants to completely envelop him until Bucky’s body and heart and soul belongs only to him, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm the kid so early on.

 

If Bucky needs time to adjust then that’s fine. Steve can give him time.

 

“I’m a fussy eater.” Is all Bucky chooses to say. Steve snorts at how adorable that is: he knows exactly what foods Bucky likes and doesn’t like, knows what Bucky’s allergic to and what makes him scrunch his nose up in disgust and what makes him groan in culinary related pleasure.

 

“I know.” Steve quirks an eyebrow at Bucky and gets a grimace in return. “I was just going to make pasta. I know it’s your favourite.”

 

Bucky turns away.

 

***

 

Bucky mostly stays silent after that— Steve sticks to the kitchen whilst Bucky wanders around his apartment, snooping in his drawers and running his fingers along the top of Steve’s sofa. He looks morbidly curious, like he’s looking for something he knows he doesn’t really want to find. Steve considers asking him to stay in the kitchen with him and help cook so they can have some time together, but ultimately decides not to. If Bucky wants to explore then who is Steve to stop him? He’s glad he decided not to print out the various different pictures he has of Bucky and hand them around his apartment— he feels like that wouldn’t have gone down particularly well with the boy.

 

Sitting down to dinner, Bucky looks even more awkward. He’s shuffling uncomfortably in his chair and picking at his food, even though Steve knows for a fact that Bucky loves this meal.

 

“Don’t you like it?” Steve asks, concerned. “We can order out if you’d prefer? Anything you want. I just want to make you happy.”

 

“It’s…” Bucky starts, glancing at Steve every few seconds from under his eyelashes. “Nothing.” He finishes lamely. “It’s nothing.”

 

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you.” Steve tells him. He reaches out to cover Bucky’s hand with his own, rubbing circles into the soft skin with his thumb in what is supposed to be a comforting movement. Bucky eyes it warily but doesn’t attempt to pull away or make Steve stop touching him, which is a definite improvement.

 

“I just… I saw something. In your room.” Steve looks up sharply, already mentally cataloguing all the potential things that Bucky would have seen that would bother him, and that he might need to do damage control for. Bucky must misinterpret Steve’s sudden movement as anger because his whole body flinches backwards.

 

“You didn’t say I couldn’t go in there.” Bucky raises his chin at Steve defiantly, but his voice is trembling. Steve is once again reminded of how much trust Bucky is placing in him just by being here, and it warms his heart.

 

“I’m not mad,” Steve tells him calmly. “Just concerned. What was it?”

 

Bucky looks even more uncomfortable, looks acutely aware of Steve’s hand heavy on top of his own.

 

“A picture.” Before Steve can ask him to clarify he continues, and his words come out in a garbled rush that Steve has to work to unpick and put together again. “Of you. You were in a uniform: it looked like the army. Were you in the army?”

 

Steve inhaled slowly. It isn’t like he wasn’t expecting Bucky to know at some point, he just thought he would have more time before he had to explain everything. He had also thought that he would be telling the boy on his own terms, but this isn’t Bucky’s fault. He’s naturally curious: it’s one of the things Steve loves most about him.

 

“Yeah,” he replies eventually. “I got back from tour recently, actually. It’s good to be back.”

 

“You must have seen some shit, huh?” Bucky asks, and then immediately apologises. Steve never wants to hear Bucky apologise to him again so he shushes him quickly and nods his head.

 

“It got nasty. I was lucky to come back, a lot of my friends didn’t make it. But I’m back now. I’m seeing a mandated therapist, and I have this place,” he gestures around his apartment. “And I’ve got you. It was worth coming back for.”

 

Bucky is looking at Steve like he’s seeing him for the first time, an expression of pity and curiosity mixed with the slightest bit of awe. It’s the first time Steve feels like the boy has ever truly seen him - the real him - and not cringed away from him, and it feels so good. He hates to destroy the atmosphere but his curiosity gets the better of him.

 

“Why all the questions anyway? You’re not thinking of signing up, are you?” The thought of Bucky, suffering and alone having seen what Steve has seen, fills him with a dread so sharp and sudden that it makes his stomach lurch. He can’t let that happen, no matter what stopping it involves. He would be willing to do anything to protect Bucky, Steve realises.

 

“No, no.” Bucky responds hurriedly. “Just… my dad was in the army. My biological father, I mean. It’s why they put me and my sister up for adoption in the first place: he came back and was all messed up and couldn’t cope with looking after a child, let alone two.”

 

Huh. That’s… surprising, actually. Steve had been under the impression that Bucky didn’t remember anything about his birth parents - he couldn't have been more than three or four years old - and the knowledge that he does actually is news to him.

 

“Are you in contact with him still?” Steve asks politely, taking small bites of his pasta to stop himself from bombarding Bucky with questions. Bucky shakes his head.

 

“I tried to find him a couple of years ago, used the address social services gave me. He’d moved out a decade earlier. They didn’t have another address for him. My parents didn’t want me to pursue it anyway.”

 

Steve hums noncommittally, even though inwardly he’s thankful towards Bucky’s parents. He doesn’t understand how anyone could give this boy up. As much as he may try to hide it, Bucky is clearly hurt by the perceived rejection, and Steve automatically hates anyone who hurts Bucky.

 

They wash the dishes together. Steve has a dishwasher that could probably finish the job faster and more efficiently, but Bucky offers and there’s no way Steve is going to turn him down. They stand side by side, Steve washing the plates and handing them one by one to Bucky to dry. At one point their hands brush and, instead of stepping further away or apologising, Bucky laughs a little and knocks their shoulders together. Steve falls a little more in love with him every second they’re together.

 

They end up in Steve’s bedroom, with Bucky pointing to various things and Steve explaining the story behind them. It’s amusing if only because Steve gets to watch the way Bucky’s eyes light up when he finds something particularly interesting. It’s the most fun Steve has had since he got back, since he left, since he fucking _enlisted_ , and he’s having so much fun that he doesn’t even notice they’re sitting side by side on Steve’s bed until Bucky is leaning towards him.

 

It isn’t the first time they’ve kissed, but it’s the first time Bucky has ever initiated it and that feels important. Bucky moans weakly and Steve slides his tongue against Bucky’s, holding the boy!s face in his hands and tipping them both over so that they’re lying on their sides. Their mouths never disconnect. This kiss is unlike the others. It’s deep and wet and filthy, and Bucky lets Steve fuck into his mouth with his tongue. Other than sucking his cock the other day, it’s the single hottest thing Steve has ever done.

 

Bucky throws his leg over Steve’s hip and Steve can feel the boy’s erection pressing into his stomach through his jeans. Bucky’s hand dips down to Steve’s waistline and his fingers creep up under his t-shirt, cold fingertips against hot skin. Steve’s hands go straight for Bucky’s zipper. He’s popped the button of the boy’s jeans and the zip is half way down before Bucky pulls away, panting. He’s flushed red, and he seems unconscious of the tiny thrusting motions he’s making with his hips in order to get friction on his cock. Steve is aching inside his underwear as well— he slides a hand down his front to press against it and bring himself some relief. Bucky’s eyes track the movement religiously.

 

“I should go home.” Bucky says breathily, biting his lip.

 

“Uh huh,” Steve hums, pulling his cock out of his trousers and wrapping a hand around it. It’s awkward - his hand is too dry and it doesn’t slide well - but Bucky’s eyes on him are all the encouragement Steve needs.

 

After a few seconds he jolts, an unexpected touch on his arm surprising him. Bucky gently prises his hand away from his cock and, bringing it up to his mouth, licks across his palm with the flat of his tongue. He never once loses eye contact with Steve.

 

This time it’s better: his hand is wet and whilst the friction is just as delicious as before, it isn’t too difficult for him to set up a steady motion. Before he knows it, Steve feels a tightening sensation in his stomach and is spilling into his hand. Without thinking, he brings his hand up to Bucky’s lips again as he catches his breath.

 

Bucky drags his tongue through the mess of come on Steve’s hand; Steve licks away a drop at the corner of the boy’s lips with his tongue before pushing himself out of bed and holding a hand out for Bucky to take. Bucky looks at it in confusion, and Steve can’t help but smile at how adorable the boy is.

 

“Didn’t you say you needed to get home?” Steve smirks.

 

The drive to Bucky’s house seems to go far too quickly, Steve knowing he has to deliver Bucky back into his regular life. Bucky himself seems kind of restless as well, although that may have more to do with the way his cock is pressing relentlessly against the zipper of his jeans. He’s going to have a hard job hiding that from his parents when he gets in, but it pleases Steve in a perverse way to know exactly what Bucky will be doing when he gets to his room.

 

“Tonight was fun.” Steve says after he’s parked the car just outside Bucky’s drive.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, surprise colouring his voice like he wasn’t expecting it to be. “It was. We could… do it again sometime. If you wanted.”

 

“I would love that.”

 

Bucky is halfway up the drive before he pauses, seems to change his mind about something and rushes back to the car. Steve had been parked with his window rolled down halfway in order to watch Bucky disappear into his house, but now Bucky takes advantage of that. He’s leaning through the window and planting a kiss on Steve’s mouth, turning away quickly. He’s closing his front door behind him before Steve can finish processing what just happened.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Things get better.

 

Bucky and Steve meeting up becomes a semi regular occurrence, to the point that Bucky’s mother offers to give him a key. Bucky’s face drains of colour at this but he doesn’t object, doesn’t interfere, just waits in silence to see what Steve will do. Steve laughs and thanks her for the kind offer, but explains that he won’t need an extra key. He won’t be here without Bucky. It’s as much of a response to Bucky’s mother as it is a promise to the boy himself.

 

Steve likes to call them their dates. They meet up, sometimes at Steve’s apartment and sometimes in town; they eat dinner or see movies or just walk around and talk. Steve likes those nights the best, when Bucky will open up about his feelings. Those feelings usually regard his biological family and Steve’s time in the army, but Steve tries not to look too deeply into that. Any time with Bucky is time well spent, same goes for conversation.

 

Bucky doesn’t like to call them dates. He doesn’t like to talk to Steve over the phone, though he’ll happily text him. It feels all the time like Steve is playing a game that he doesn’t know the rules to, and he doesn’t know whether Bucky is on the same team as him or not.

 

That isn’t to say that this isn’t the best time of his life though. Each time they hang out at Steve’s place it ends up with one or both of them taking their clothes off, and often it’s even initiated by Bucky. The boy is tentative with his moves, shy and just on the right side of adorably awkward when he crawls onto Steve’s lap and paws at his chest. He’ll kiss Steve’s jaw softly and trail his tongue over Steve’s Adam’s apple, and Steve can’t hide the way he shivers at the action. His boy is clueless to how beautiful he is, how he drives Steve mad with desire.

 

He’s less fond of initiating their special brand of phone sex. Bucky’s messages never follow a pattern: they vary from mood to mood, minute to minute. One second he’ll be sending a three hundred word message with three exclamation marks and about six unrelated emojis, and the next second he’ll send “okay” with a full stop. Even though Steve is supposedly the one with control in their relationship, he can never seem to figure Bucky out. That, he supposes, is part of the allure.

 

They’re ambling along the sidewalk just outside Bucky’s favourite diner, both trying to finish their ice creams before they melt and drip down their hands, when Bucky first asks about Christie. They aren’t holding hands because Bucky doesn’t like to touch in public - he shies away from Steve’s soft touches when they aren’t hidden away inside the safety of Steve’s apartment - when Bucky shudders to a halt suddenly.

 

“Tell me about your therapist.” Bucky says. It’s phrased as a demand, but Steve can hear the lilting question in his voice. The plea. Bucky could be a lot more powerful, Steve thinks idly, if he realised that he could demand anything and Steve would agree to it.

 

“What do you want to know?” Steve asks, wishing desperately he could brush Bucky’s hair out of his face or hold his hand. “I’ll tell you anything.”

 

“What do you talk about?” Bucky side-eyes him like he thinks the question might make Steve mad. “What does she tell you to do? Do you talk about me?”

 

“Woah, woah, slow down.” Steve chuckles. “One question at a time. We talk about a whole bunch of things. Mostly it’s her telling me how fucked up the army made me, other times we talk about social situations. She wants me to make more friends, go out more. That’s how I met you actually— guess I should thank her for that.”

 

Bucky smiles weakly but otherwise doesn’t respond, so Steve figures he should go on to answer the other questions before it gets awkward.

 

“She tells me to… I don’t know. Go out more, make friends. Take deep breaths. It’s not like I actually ever really listen to her. I’m only there because I have to be and she’s only there to make money.”

 

“And do you?” Bucky asks.

 

“Do I what?”

 

“Take deep breaths. Go out more, meet new people.”

 

“I met you, didn’t I?” Steve hums happily and knocks their shoulders together as they walk. Bucky kicks a rock on the ground and stares at his shoes, but when he looks back at Steve he’s smiling slightly.

 

“And yeah, I talk about you. Not all the time, but I’ve mentioned you. She thinks you’re good for me.” Steve tells Bucky proudly. Weirdly enough, feeling that he’s got his therapists approval makes Steve thinks that maybe Bucky would be more open to being public. If a trained professional - Steve snorts at the words - thinks Bucky and Steve are good together then why shouldn’t Bucky?

 

“What’s her name?” Bucky asks. Steve frowns; asking generic questions about therapy is understandable, but why would Bucky want to know his therapist’s name? It’s not like he’ll ever meet her. Three more sessions and she’ll be out of their lives for good.

 

“Why?” Steve replies, not unkindly.

 

Bucky flushes red and seems to recede back into himself, shoulders hunching. He throws his unfinished ice cream into the bin and Steve follows suit.

 

“Just curious,” Bucky shrugs it off. Steve wants to call bullshit but he doesn’t want to upset the boy anymore.

 

“Bucky, hey,” Steve tugs on Bucky’s arm until the boy slows to a stop, and they’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Steve tries to catch Bucky’s eye whilst Bucky tries desperately avoid it.

 

“You can tell me the truth, you know that right?” Steve tells him sincerely. “You can tell me anything.”

 

Bucky remains silent.

 

“Bucky, seriously. They’re just bullshit requirements, why the sudden interest?” The longer Bucky remains silent the worse Steve begins to feel. He can’t tell if it’s anger or hurt but something is building in his chest and he wants to fucking kill Christie for coming between Bucky and him like this.

 

“Right,” Steve grabs Bucky’s wrist, making sure that is grip is not tight enough to hurt but strong enough that the boy won’t be able to wrestle out of it. “C’mon. We’re going back to my place.”

 

Bucky stumbles along behind Steve as Steve drags them towards his apartment. Right now he just wants to be inside, hidden from view of all his busybody neighbours. He needs to talk to Bucky alone, without the boy cringing away from physical contact every time someone walks past. He’s not sure how long it takes them to get to Steve’s apartment but by the time they’re there, he’s calmed down a little and is able to take a few deep breaths.

 

He doesn’t even realise Bucky is crying until he looks behind him.

 

“Oh no,” Steve murmurs, letting go of the boy’s wrist immediately and crowding closer. He pushes Bucky’s hair out of his face tenderly and rubs the back of his fingers against Bucky’s face. “Oh hey, Bucky, baby, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you, didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry Bucky, don’t be upset. I love you.”

 

Bucky has his arms wrapped around himself and his breath is stuttering, hiccuping, each time he tries to inhale. There’s a red band around his wrist where Steve’s hand was and he’s cowering away from him fearfully. Steve’s heart breaks.

 

“Hey, come through here baby.” Steve leads him through the apartment to his bedroom, keeping his voice purposefully soft so as not to frighten Bucky any more than he clearly already has. When they get to the bedroom Steve directs Bucky onto the bed and kneels down, gently easing his shoes and socks off so that he can lie down more comfortably.

 

“You okay?” He asks when the boy’s breathing has evened out a bit more. Bucky nods shakily and before Steve can ask him anything else he’s lurching upwards, smashing their mouths together and wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck so that he can’t pull away.

 

Steve has never seen Bucky this desperate before but it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk. Steve always did say he’d give Bucky anything he wanted.

 

“Easy, easy.” Steve soothes Bucky, laying him on his back and crawling over him. He drags a hand down Bucky’s chest over his t-shirt until it gets to his waistband; Bucky’s breathing speeds up but he doesn’t ask Steve to stop so he doesn’t. Instead, he settles his hand over Bucky’s cock through his jeans and rubs the heel of his palm over the tip of his cock again and again, until Bucky lets out a broken moan.

 

Bucky gasps beautifully as Steve pushes his t-shirt up, uncovering more and more unblemished skin. The subtly defined muscles in his stomach are even more pronounced than usual under the strain of holding back, not thrusting up into the pressure Steve is giving him. Steve could count each rib through Bucky’s skin as it’s revealed to him until eventually the boy’s nipples are uncovered: pebbled and sensitive. Steve ducks his head and wraps his lips around one, sucking gently and laving his tongue over it again and again as Bucky arches his back and tries to pull Steve’s head down even more, seeking further contact.

 

By the time Bucky’s t-shirt has been flung to the floor Steve has moved up to the kid’s collarbone, neck, jaw, sucking the skin there until bruises bloom just under the skin. Steve doesn’t want to stop until every inch of Bucky’s skin - from his neck to his skinny hips - are covered in Steve’s mark. Bucky is panting and sweating, hyper sensitive to any kind of touch, by the time Steve’s lips and teeth and tongue make their way down to his hipbones.

 

Steve eases Bucky’s jeans down slowly, careful not to catch his cock on the zipper. Bucky is so hard that he’s straining against his underwear, and the front of his boxers are so wet with precome that they’re sticking to his dick. Steve zigzags the flat of his tongue up and down, following the natural curve before closing his lips over the tip of his cock through the wet fabric and sucking. Bucky lets out a broken sob and his hips jerk involuntarily.

 

“Please,” he begs, breathless. “Hurts.”

 

Steve takes pity on him, pulling the underwear over Bucky’s legs and off his feet, stopping to kiss the inside of the boy’s thighs as he works his way up again. He spreads Bucky’s legs gently and, after retrieving the half empty bottle of lube from his bedside table, slicks up three of his fingers. Surprisingly considering everything they’ve already done, they’ve never done this before. Steve has never been inside Bucky, and he’s about to be, and he’s kind of freaking out a little but he has to pull himself together because fuck if he isn’t going to make sure Bucky’s first time is spectacular.

 

He traces the rim with the tip of his finger for a few moments, massaging the tight muscle until it’s relaxed, before pushing inside up to the second knuckle all in one go.

 

“Doing so well, took it so well. Gonna take my cock so well, aren’t you?” Steve murmurs, brushing hair out of Bucky’s face tenderly. Bucky whimpers, clenching uncertainly around Steve’s thick finger.

 

Bucky bites his lip when Steve works a second finger in beside the first. He thrusts them lazily for a few minutes, spreading them gently and working his way deeper until he finds the spot inside Bucky that makes the boy throw his head back and moan, uninhibited. The only sound in the room is Steve’s fingers thrusting in and out of Bucky’s hole, and Bucky’s occasional moan.

 

“Please, Steve, please. Need you now.” Bucky cries, needy, flinging his arms around Steve’s neck and trying to tug him upwards.

 

“But you aren’t—” Steve tries to protest, doesn’t want Bucky getting hurt and especially not by him.

“Now, _please_.” Bucky groans, and Steve will never be able to deny him anything he wants.

 

He slicks up his cock using probably too much lube, but he’d rather that than have Bucky get hurt. Then, holding Bucky’s legs up and spread apart by the knees, Steve pushes inside him for the first time.

 

The first slide in is heaven. Bucky is tight and warm and wet and Steve thinks he might come straight away with the way Bucky’s body tightens around him instinctively. He moans from his chest and breathes through his nose a few times to calm down. When he finally looks at Bucky, the boy is staring right back at him with wide eyes. His mouth is open and Steve can feel the boy’s laboured breaths fanning against his face, but he doesn’t make a sound. Steve wants to change that— wants to fuck him until he’s screaming.

 

“Fuck me.” Bucky whispers, and hitches his thighs higher around Steve’s waist. Steve, like he could do anything else, complies.

 

Steve knows when Bucky gets close because his moans get higher, more breathy. Steve slides his hand in between them and wraps it around Bucky’s cock: not stroking, just holding tight and rubbing the pad of his thumb over the slit. Bucky comes with a soft moan and a sigh, come covering Steve’s fingers and stomach. Steve remembers in the split second before he’s coming that Bucky never asked him to wear a condom and the thought of spilling inside Bucky pushes him over the edge. His cock throbs and he comes, pressed tight against Bucky’s body.

 

Afterwards, Bucky throws a leg over Steve’s waist and huddles up to him, pushing his face into Steve’s neck.

 

***

 

Steve hates therapy. Talking with Bucky about it seems to have done nothing but reinforce his hatred for it. It’s unnecessary, patronising and Christie is the most annoying human being Steve has ever fucking met.

 

He only has a couple more sessions after this one and he can’t wait until he can walk out of her office, knowing he’ll never have to return. Until then, though, he has to play nice and pretend like all this is helping.

 

This time, though, something is different. He stands, hovering awkwardly outside Christie’s office, unsure what to do. It’s his appointment time, same as always, but there’s someone else in his chair and another chair has been moved to sit opposite Christie. The woman is nodding along to something the other person must be saying, something Steve can’t hear. When she sees Steve she stands up, swallows and beckons him inside.

 

“Steve, so good to see you again.” She sounds nervous. Steve doesn’t reply, still anxious. He has a horrible feeling about this, like he knows who it’s going to be even before he gets to the other side of the chair, like he knows it’s going to be—

 

Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more to go folks <3


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